


there but for the grace of god

by wanderlove



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (sort of? to be explained), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cinnamon Roll Luke Skywalker, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Just Talk You Idiots, Skywalker Family Feels (Star Wars), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27187270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderlove/pseuds/wanderlove
Summary: There’s nothing particularly remarkable about Sullust.Well, except for Obi-Wan’s time-traveling son. But, you know. Apart from that.Or, baby-Luke-raised-by-Ben-Kenobi shows up in the middle of the Clone Wars, causes Anakin and Obi-Wan to put two and two together and get forty-five, and in the process inspires a series of heartfelt conversations that may or may not avert the terrible future he’s from.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Luke Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze (hinted), Padmé Amidala & Luke Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 602
Kudos: 1538





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a strictly gen fic focused strictly on my OTP: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Happiness. lol. 
> 
> but seriously, all relationships referenced are canon and gen, I only rated it teen because there may be some violence, but nothing more or less than what was seen in the Clone Wars tv show and that show was supposedly appropriate for children. The real focus is getting to explore Cinnamon Roll Luke Skywalker bonding with all of his family--his birth parents, Obi-Wan, Rex, Cody (yes they're all family, FIGHT ME)--and how that bonding process may cause some of the characters to reconsider their horrible decisions up until this point (aka not telling your older brother figure/platonic soulmate about your not so secret marriage to your other, non-platonic soulmate) and potentially make a change for the better. 
> 
> title is a stargate sg-1 reference, double bonus points to anyone who actually understands it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Anakin hates Sullust.

To be entirely fair to Sullust, there’s nothing particularly remarkable about it that’s causing such a well of un-Jedi like hate in him, he just hates all of these stupid Outer Rim planets and Sullust is just the latest in a long line of sieges. The war has always dragged by, bleak and awful and endless, but ever since Ahsoka left ( _since she was accused, mistreated, run out of the Order by those kriffing cowards_ ), everything has seemed to drag especially slowly. 

At least he and Obi-Wan have been reunited for this particular siege—sometimes it feels like Anakin is drowning and the only time his head breaks through the surface and he can truly _breathe_ is when he gets to see Obi-Wan or Padmé (or Ahsoka, but she’s left him now). When they’d greeted each other on the bridge of the Negotiator—a big, warm, tight hug that lasted a little longer than normal, Obi-Wan had seemed to sense his distress and had pulled back, searching Anakin’s face.

“Perhaps,” he had ventured, hesitantly, “we could meditate together after the battle? I know I am in sore need of a partner and miss our sessions together.” 

“Mmm,” Anakin had hummed, noncommittal, but secretly relieved. They both know that Obi-Wan knows that Anakin still needs help meditating, as if he were still a tow-headed, snot-nosed youngling and not a grown Knight, but Anakin determinedly pretends otherwise and Obi-Wan graciously plays along, acting as if he need to meditate for his own peace of mind and not because he can clearly feel the frayed edges of his former padawan.

Still, getting to see Obi-Wan, to feel that rush of rightness in the Force as they face off against the Galaxy, shoulder to shoulder, back to back, is not enough to make up for the slog that is Sullust. Oh, the Separatists give up eventually, as they always do, but not before killing too many men and leaving scars in both the landscape and the Force. Anakin hates it, he really does, and he can’t wait to get off this stupid planet, he doesn’t even know _why_ the Separatists are interested in it, he really doesn’t, and they can have it for all he cares—

Suddenly, Anakin falls to his knees, wheezing and gasping and feeling as if he has been punched in the diaphragm.

“Generals!” Rex screams, his voice far away and tinny, as Anakin tries to blink away the ringing sensation in his ears. He glances over and finds Obi-Wan in a similar position, bent over, hand braced against a nearby rock, and looking pale with shock as the Force reverberates with… _something._

The next thing Anakin knows, both he and Obi-Wan are being dragged out of the line of fire, Rex shouting orders to the remaining men and panicked requests for medical aid through the coms.

Anakin fights off Rex and collapses on the ground.

“Sirs! The medics are preparing an emergency evacuation for you, we have to make it back to base—”

Obi-Wan holds up a hand, still breathing hard. Even in his clearly befuddled state, the Negotiator is an imposing figure and Rex’s jaw immediately snaps shut.

“We are all right, Captain, I assure you,” he pants, finally. Anakin nods, then stops when he finds that the motion makes his head spin with dizziness. Rex watches them, a whole dissertation on disbelief in the quirk of his eyebrow. Obi-Wan smiles ruefully and acknowledges the disconnect with a wave of his hand. “Or we will be at any rate. We just need a moment to catch our breath and reconstruct our shields. Right, Anakin?”

Anakin holds up his hand in a thumbs up to indicate his assent.

“Sirs, I don’t—I don’t always understand your _jetii_ stuff, but you’re clearly in no shape to return to the field. It doesn’t even really matter—we’re just cleaning up the last of the stragglers, the men and I can handle it by ourselves, no problem.”

“We’re _fine,_ ” Obi-Wan insists, straightening to his full height and cautiously stretching. He moves to lay a hand of Anakin’s shoulder and help him up. It’s a good deal less graceful than what Anakin was aiming for, but soon he is up and walking around again and that’s what really matters. “It was only a disturbance in the Force, no need to panic.”

“Must have been some disturbance,” Rex says, doubtfully.

“Quite,” Obi-Wan agrees, dryly. He hesitates, clearly debating the best way to brush off Rex’s concerns.

That’s when Cody coms, uncharacteristic worry in the thrum of his voice.

“Sirs, we have a…situation. We need you back at base ASAP,” he says, before winking out of existence as suddenly as he appeared. “Over and out.”

Rex, Anakin, and Obi-Wan stare at the space he left behind for one long, moment.

“Okay, now can we panic?” Anakin asks into the silence, just to be an asshole.

Obi-Wan shoots him a dirty look.

***

Anakin enters the command center—little more than a slightly bigger than average tent, really—heart in his throat at what he may find. He pushes aside a small flap and blinks into the sudden darkness. It didn’t seem all that light outside, what with the farther than usual distance of Sullust’s sun and the overcast skies, but still the tent is dark and musty compared to that.

He squints, trying to make out the figures inside when—

“Ben!”

Anakin is knocked to the side as a tiny blur pushes past him, heading straight for Obi-Wan. Anakin turns and catches the bewildered look on his former Master’s face as he stares down at the small, human child currently wrapped around his legs.

“Well,” Cody begins dryly, stepping into the light of the half-open flap. “I guess that answers the question of who ‘Ben’ is.”

Obi-Wan looks up sharply.

“Wha—I don’t—” he begins. He stops abruptly, glances down at the child, who is looking up at him with big, wet blue eyes, then back up to Cody. Anakin has never seen his Master look so panicked before. He kinda wants to laugh a little.

“He’s been asking for you, sir,” Cody explains, at Obi-Wan’s obvious confusion. “Ever since he just showed up in the middle of an active battlefield—gave Ghost Squadron quite the scare too. They managed to get him away from the clankers, but he’s been a bit…recalcitrant ever since then.”

The child shakes his head emphatically.

“I didn’t tell ‘em _anything_ , Ben, not anything, just like you told me,” he says, resolutely. Obi-Wan blinks, then awkwardly extends a hand and pats at the child’s hair.

“Uh, very good, thank you,” he says. The child beams with pride. “But perhaps you could, er, tell me how you ended up on Sullust? I really don’t think you are supposed to be…here.”

The child cocks his head, considering it. Then he shrugs.

“I dunno.”

“You don’t know? How do you end up in the middle of a war zone without _knowing?”_ Obi-Wan’s voice is turning high-pitched, panicky and Anakin rolls his eyes, deciding it is well past time for him to intervene. He crouches down and taps a gentle finger against the child’s shoulder. The boy turns around and shuffles so that Obi-Wan’s legs are between him and Anakin. He peers out suspiciously.

“Hey, buddy,” Anakin says, cheerfully, quietly. “Unfortunately, I think Ben’s a little confused. You know how it is with adults—sometimes they forget these really obvious things. So, I think what Ben really means, what he was really asking, is if you could describe what happened right before you appeared in front of the troopers. I know it might be kinda scary to think back about what happened, but it would be a big help jogging Ben’s memory.”

“Who’re you?” the boy demands, eyes narrowed.

“I’m one of Ben’s friends,” Anakin replies easily. He holds out a hand. “Anakin, Anakin Skywalker.” 

The child’s eyes go wide, his mouth hanging open in a little ‘oh’ shape. He leans forward, nearly off-balancing Obi-Wan in his attempt to get a better look at Anakin.

“You’re Anakin Skywalker?” he exclaims, excitedly. Anakin nods solemnly, by now well-accustomed to how children react to meeting the ‘Hero With No Fear.’ “And you’re friends with Ben? He never told me that!”

“Mmm, yup,” Anakin hums in agreement. “But since you know my name, I think it’s only fair that I get to know yours.”

The boy hesitates for only an instant longer, glancing up to Obi-Wan, who gives him a stilted, but encouraging smile. He ducks his head, shyly.

“I’m Luke.”

Anakin waits for a beat.

“Luke…?” he prompts.

“It depends,” Luke responds with shrug. “We’re whatever Ben says we are. Sometimes we’re Lars, sometimes we’re Vos, and sometimes we’re Bane. I’ve got a secret name too, my mama’s name. But I’m not supposed to repeat that one, not ever, because it’s really dangerous.”

“Huh.” Anakin risks a glance at Obi-Wan and Cody, both of whom are staring at the child with furrowed brows. He turns his attention back to Luke. “And do you know what you were doing before you met the troopers?”

“Hiding.”

“Do you know where?”

“That big Temple,” Luke says, jerking his chin towards the ruins of an old Force-worshippers temple that mark the western edge of their lines. It’s not really Sith or Jedi—it was built well before there were even names for such things—but it still contains a powerful, not-quite-Light nexus in the Force that makes the Temple ruins unstable and unpredictable.

“That’s kinda dangerous, buddy,” Anakin says, frowning himself for the first time. “Why were you hiding in the old ruins?”

“Yeah sure, but the monsters are _more_ dangerous,” Luke says with an eyeroll, the “no-duh” clearly heard in his tone if not his actual words. “We do it all the time—Ben finds an old Temple somewhere and we stay there until the monsters are gone. The Temples are really loud and bright and noisy so they can’t look real hard and see _us_ underneath _.”_

It is only then that Anakin recognizes that the boy is Force sensitive—a bright, burning supernova that chases away the chill of battle and warms his bones. Stupid, yes, the whole reason he and Obi-Wan had been practically dragged off the field was because of a Force disturbance so strong it had sent them both their knees and what could possibly cause that apart from another Force sensitive? But still, he hadn’t truly understood until just now and Anakin inhales, sharply, overcome by a strange sense of _familiarity,_ of _home_. Which is extremely odd because while he knows that that’s how a lot of other Jedi describe joint meditation with their brothers and sisters, how Ahoska and Obi-Wan describe their first meditations in the creche, but Anakin has never felt that way around other Force sensitives, not really. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, yeah, but never other Jedi—he’s always been too weird, too powerful, too out of place really.

“Luke, are you and your father Force-sensitive?” Obi-Wan asks sharply. Rogue Force sensitives are always viewed as threats by the Council—but a rogue adult running around the middle of a Separatist battlefield with an impressionable, powerful youngling and enough knowledge of the Force to hide from other Force sensitives? If the boy’s father really is trying to shield the child from the attention of other Force Sensitives, then moving him in between Force wells would be an awfully smart way to go about it. Obi-Wan had even done it once or twice on dangerous missions with Anakin, especially when he had been younger and terrible at shielding.

Luke startles and looks curiously up at Obi-Wan, no understanding in his wide blue eyes. Anakin sighs.

“Luke,” he calls, gently, drawing the boy’s attention back to him. “Do you and Ben have special powers? Maybe he’s been teaching you how to float small objects or to trust that little voice in the back of your head or to sorta figure out what other people might be thinking?”

“Oh, yeah!” Luke chirps, perking up. “We do that _all_ the time.” He closes his eyes and scrunches up his face and _reaches_ , a clumsy, but summery greeting in the Force. Anakin still can’t quite put his finger on the weirdly familiar feeling Luke’s Force signature inspires in him, but it’s almost like the bloom of warmth he gets when he and Obi-Wan meditate together. It’s odd to have that feeling emanating from this strange child and not his Master, and a little fuzzier around the edges, a little less honed, but definitely the same flavor.

Half an idea starts to grow in the back of Anakin’s mind, almost immediately discarded for how karking _insane_ it is.

He shakes his head.

“Okay, so you were in the Temple,” Anakin continues, leading the boy on. “What happened next?”

“Ben went off to buy supplies. But then there was something else in the Temple, something…dark, wrong. It was one of the monsters—the same ones that always follow us and makes Ben get that really worried look, like he hasn’t slept in _forever._ So I hid, just like Ben taught me, but it kept getting closer and closer and I just sorta closed my eyes and wished I was somewhere else, anywhere else, as long as it was safe and the monster wasn’t there too. And then it was gone, but it was super noisy and there was dust everywhere and I ran outside and that’s when the Imps caught me.” Luke pauses, frowns. “Why are _you_ working with the Imps?”

“Well, I don’t know who these Imps are, but the troopers who found you are my friends—mine and Ben’s,” Anakin replies lightly. “This is Cody—and those men who found you are Waxer and Boil.”

“Ben doesn’t have friends. Luke voice is still heavy with suspicion, his pudgy fingers flexing in their grip on Obi-Wan’s tunic. He glances up at Obi-Wan, who looks helplessly back.

“That’s not true—grown up friendships may be different, but they still have friends,” Anakin asserts.

“Nuh-uh,” Luke repeats with the certainty of a child. “Ben doesn’t have friends. They all died and left him alone. He told me and that’s why he won’t let anything happen to me, not ever, because I’m all he has left.”

There’s an awkward silence in the tent.

“Then we must get you back to Ben as soon as possible,” Cody says, quietly. “He must be really worried about you.”

“But I am with Ben! He’s right here, can’t you see him?” Luke cries in frustration. He turns to Anakin. “Can’t you _feel_ him?”

“I—” Anakin flounders helplessly for a long second, reaching helplessly to Obi-Wan for help, who’s own Force signature feels sharp-edged with uncharacteristic panic and…

“You can feel Ben up here?” he asks, pointing to his forehead. Luke nods vigorously. “Is that why you’re so sure Obi-Wan is your Ben?” Luke nods again. “Hmm. Is there anything different about him? Maybe something that’s confusing you?”

“Well,” Luke hesitates, darts his eyes up, then back down to the ground.

“Yes?” Anakin prods. “It’s okay, none of us will get mad.”

“I know you said that they’re not Imps—but they look like stormtroopers, they really do, and Ben wouldn’t ever work with the Empire, not ever. He says they’re evil and they’re the reason my mom died and why the whole Galaxy feels so cold. Only for some reason, it’s not nearly as bad as it usually is? I can feel you and a bunch of other really bright lights out there, pushing away the Darkness. I can’t even feel the monsters—normally they’re always there in the background, but now they’re just gone! And, well, Ben’s like Ben and also not at the same time. Like usually he’s a lot happier to see me, but now he just feels all confused. And his hair is all wrong—usually there’s a _lot_ more gray. And wrinkles. _Loads_ of wrinkles.” 

As one, Anakin and Obi-Wan’s eyes lock over the top of Luke’s head and they freeze, several key pieces finally slotting into place.

_Guess my idea wasn’t so insane after all._

“Hey, Luke,” Anakin continues, in what he hopes is a casual voice. “This might be a silly question, but what year is it?”


	2. Chapter 2

It is at that moment that Rex chooses to finally make his appearance, charging into the command tent.

“We just finished cleaning up—last of the clankers have been sequestered and we’ve captured the tactical droid leading the campaign,” he pants out. He rips his helmet off and glances around at Anakin, Obi-Wan, Cody, and Luke. He does a visible double take. “What did I miss?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Well, apparently Jedi can time-travel now,” Cody drawls, voice as dry as Tatooine’s desert as he gestures to Luke.

“Dimension travel,” Obi-Wan corrects distractedly, still staring at Luke with wide eyes. Both Obi-Wan and the boy have their heads tilted, that trademark, curious examination pose that Obi-Wan often adopts now reflected in this small stranger. Anakin half expects Luke’s hand to rise up to rub against his non-existent beard. “And technically anyone can do it, not just Jedi.”

Rex blinks.

“I see,” he says. He pulls up a chair and collapses into it with a heavy, long-suffering sigh. Anakin sees him exchange a look with Cody as his brother scoots a steaming hot mug of the sludge that passes for caf on the front closer. Rex gratefully takes the proffered drink and cradles the mug between both hands as he takes a long sip. He closes his eyes, inhales, and then turns back to Obi-Wan and Anakin. “Okay, care to explain that a little further?”

There’s silence and Anakin nudges at Obi-Wan with the toe of his boot, breaking his former Master’s reverie.

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan says. He looks up. “Oh, yes. Well, dimension travel is rare, but not so rare that we are unaware of the possibility. These alternate universes are usually just a tad ahead or behind of one another, so it can appear very much like time travel on the surface, but it’s technically inter-dimensional travel.”

“Wait, so I’m a time-traveler?” Luke pipes up, eyes round. “And you’re like a super young version of my dad?”

Rex spits out his caf.

Obi-Wan looks pained.

“Dimension traveler,” he corrects. “But back to Cody’s point—the phenomenon is hardly limited to Jedi. All you really need is a powerful Force well, which yes, generally does tend to be Jedi since not a lot of other people are visiting such places but also doesn’t completely preclude the possibility of a non-Force sensitive from doing the same thing. It’s one of the few major Force disturbances that non-Force sensitives can experience and influence to some degree. That we know of at least. So it’s actually quite the point of fascination as I’m sure you’ll understand. Unfortunately, the exact cause has proven elusive and we’ve never been able to replicate the phenomena in a controlled fashion—all of the travelers we have records of report completely spontaneous trips. And a little over half of them prove unable to ever figure out how to return to their home dimensions—”

Anakin clears his throat pointedly. Obi-Wan stops abruptly.

 _He’s not one of your science experiments, Master,_ he says quietly across the bond. He tilts his head towards Luke, who is looking between the four adults in the room with a distinct wobble to his lip.

“Oh. Um.” Obi-Wan pauses and reaches out awkwardly to gingerly pat at Luke’s shoulder. “There, there. I’m sure we’ll figure out something.”

Rex, Cody, and Anakin look on, gaping.

“Wasn’t the General in charge of you when you were a kid?” Rex asks Anakin, sounding vaguely horrified. Cody shakes his head.

“Yeah and look how that turned out,” Cody mutters. Anakin bares his teeth and narrows his eyes—he and Cody have an ongoing love-hate relationship that mostly borders on hate. They keep it civil for Obi-Wan’s sake, when he’s conscious at least, but they’ve exchanged more than one or two bitter barbs over Obi-Wan’s hospital bed.

“Luke,” Anakin calls, drawing the boy’s attention back to him. His blonde head whips around. “You have to know we’ll get you home again—Obi-Wan’s right that we may not be able to do it right away, but if anyone can figure it out, it’s Obi-Wan. And you’ve got two of them—I know your father will be looking for you back in your universe too, so we’ll be attacking the problems from both ends. In the meantime, I know it sucks but you’ll have to be really brave.”

The kid sniffles and nods. He takes one deep breath in, holds it, and then exhales his worry on his next breath out—just as Obi-Wan always does, just as he had taught Anakin as a young Padawan. Only this kid is clearly much better at it than Anakin ever was—in the Force, Anakin can feel the boy’s equanimity returning, like sunshine struggling to peek out from behind a raincloud.

“I can be brave,” Luke says, resolutely. “Just like my mother.”

“Oh, uh,” Anakin fumbles. He squints at the kid’s blonde and blue eyes and makes his best guess. “That’s great—I think you take after her, you know.”

Luke beams.

“That’s what Ben says! He says I’ve got her heart. And she was the bravest—she stood up for dem-ah-cracy even when no one else would and even when she knew they might hurt her.”

Obi-Wan goes pale, his pain lashing across the Force before he snatches it back and locks away under the durasteel trap of his shields. 

“What happened to your mother, Luke?” Obi-Wan says, very quietly. Luke glances down at his toes.

“One of the monsters hurt her really bad. I was still in her stomach and she should’ve just died right away, but she wouldn’t, not until I was safe. She saved all her strength for me. Ben says Mama was really stubborn when she wanted to be.” Luke pauses, kicks his feet.

“That she was—is, I mean,” Obi-Wan says finally, into the silence. He clears his throat. “Satine is the most determined being I’ve ever met. She’s one of the only people I’ve ever lost an argument to, you know.” 

“Huh,” Luke says. He scrunches up his face. “That makes sense. I never win our arguments. I’m trying to convince you that seven is way too old to have a bedtime, but I haven’t really had a lot of luck so far.” 

Anakin fights _really_ hard to keep his lips from twitching, despite the situation.

“The monsters—do you know their names?” Obi-Wan ventures finally. Luke shrugs.

“There’s Vader and the Moffs. And the Emperor, of course. Plus the In-quiz-i-tors, but Ben says it’s not always their fault—a lot of them are just like me, but they were taken from their parents and didn’t have a Ben to protect them, so they only know what the Emperor tells them.”

“Emperor?” Obi-Wan repeats dumbly. Luke cocks his head. “Wha—why is there—what happened to the Republic?”

“For Force’s sake, Master,” Anakin grumbles, “he’s _seven._ He probably doesn’t have a stellar idea of Galactic geopolitical history.”

“Hey! I’m almost eight!” Luke protests. He pauses. “But yeah, I don’t like politics. Ben doesn’t either. Says its uncivilized.” His voice changes pitch and accent on the last word, an rough but excellent impression of Obi-Wan’s Coruscanti accent.

“Okay, hold on now,” Cody interrupts, looking between Anakin and Obi-Wan’s grim, stricken visages with a furrowed brow. “You keep insisting that this kid here is really just a dimension traveler, not a time traveler, so why do we even care? Yeah, maybe his universe has some kinda dark Empire, but there’s gotta be at least one right? Maybe he just happens to come from a really different sort of universe?”

“The universes are always close together,” Obi-Wan says, his voice carefully neutral. “With few, if any observable differences. The energy required to catapult someone from one dimension to another is just too great for the sort of wild leaps like you’re suggesting.”

“So,” Rex says. He and Cody glance at each other. He swallows. “So that means…”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

“At the very least, this future is probably decently far away—the universe may be a little ahead of ours and it is usually still fairly close time wise, but close can be relative to Force. We’ve probably got at least a decade or two,” Obi-Wan says reassuringly.

“Do you know when this Empire was founded? When the monsters started following you and your father?” Anakin asks. Luke screws up his face and thinks.

“Well, my life day is the same as Empire Day—I know cause when he gets really sad, Ben likes to say that just as the Force took everything away, it gave him one small bit of hope,” Luke declares. He pauses, looks around, and clarifies. “That’s me. I’m the hope.”

Anakin frowns, something niggling at the back of his mind.

“Luke,” Anakin says slowly, quietly, a small pit growing in the center of his stomach. “Do you know what your father means when he told you the Force took everything away? What happened on Empire Day?”

“I dunno the details, not really,” Luke says, with a shrug. “Ben doesn’t like to talk about it, so I’ve only heard the Empire’s story, but Ben says that it’s all lies.”

“And…” Anakin prompts.

“And everyone died—all the Jedi, all the people who tried to help them, _everyone_.”

Silence rings through the tent.

“All of the Jedi?” Obi-Wan clarifies, his voice cracking.

“Uh-huh,” Luke says solemnly. He reaches out and twines a hand with Obi-Wan’s and then touches his chest with the other hand, right over his heart. “It’s okay, you know. Well, not okay. But we keep them alive in here. All things must die, but not all things must be forgotten.” He adds a common Temple refrain, often spoken over the pyres of the fallen. “And one day the Empire will be gone and then we’ll share their stories with everyone. I’ll make sure of it! I’m going to join the Rebellion as soon as I’m old enough and Ben can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

“Oh really?” Cody asks. “A Rebellion? Now that sounds exciting.”

“Yup! We were with them for a while but Ben says that’s it’s too dangerous because the monsters are hunting us, and we might accidentally lead them to the other Rebels,” he explains. “But I gotta go back—my mama helped start it back before she died.”

“And before that?” Anakin continues, hastily forcing the conversation away from the topic of Satine before that awful burnt feeling of Obi-Wan’s pain can fill the Force again. “It’s hard to understand things that happened before you were born, but do you know anything, anything at all that would help us figure out the difference between now and then?”

“I already told you the year. Shouldn’t that help?”

“I think your Empire uses a different calendar system—the number you gave doesn’t really mean anything to us,” Cody admits.

“Oh. Um—I didn’t know that,” Luke says, twiddling his thumbs.

“Okay, then,” Obi-Wan continues. “We’re in the third year of the Clone Wars—does that help you figure it out?”

Luke shakes his head silently.

“Very helpful, kid,” Rex observes drolly. Anakin taps out a quick _cut it out_ with his fingers as Luke’s lip begins to wobble once more.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve never asked—it just didn’t really seem important.”

“It’s not your fault, Luke,” Anakin replies, gently. “None of this is your fault, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, right,” Luke repeats woodenly.

“Okay,” Cody declares, holding up a hand to forestall any further questions. “I think that’s enough for now.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Cody interrupts Luke, that same stern manner he uses whenever he catches Obi-Wan trying to wheedle another set of stims off of Bones and Painless. “You’ve been very helpful, but even the best soldiers need rest, you know.”

Anakin nods in agreement.

“You can’t help us if you’re dead on your feet,” he declares.

“And we do still technically have a siege to finish,” Obi-Wan chimes in. His brow furrows. “The droids may have been neutralized but the Sullustian government will need to be contacted for the official surrender.”

Cody types something into his wrist com and hits send with a satisfied nod.

“Not to worry, sir. I’ve just contacted Booster—you know how he is with shinies, he’ll be the best choice to help Luke here find a bunk and get settled in.”

“Excellent,” Obi-Wan says with a relieved nod. “We can focus our attention on the negotiations in the meantime—I believe the Senate will be sending a diplomat to aid us this time around, so we’ll also have to check our security measures and assign a squadron to act as guards.” 

“Lovely,” Anakin groans. Luke smiles, quick and unsure. Anakin shakes his head and gives Luke a playful little push. “Hey now, no laughing at me—you’d groan too if you ever had to work with one of these diplomats! Give me a droid battalion or Sith acolyte any day.”

“I just,” Luke says, then hesitates. “Ben always makes you sound super grown-up and important, but you’re mostly kinda funny.”

“Oh ho ho. Now I don’t know what sort of stories Ben has been telling you about me, but you shouldn’t believe a word of it!”

“So you weren’t the best pilot in the Order? In the whole Galaxy?”

“Best pilot in the Galaxy!” Anakin hoots, eyes gleaming. “Tell me more!”

“Well,” Luke says, warming up to his subject. “You were super brave and you always pulled off these super wild feats that no one else would even dream of trying—that’s why there are a lot of good pilots, but only the craziest can call themselves Skywalkers.”

“Call themselves?” Obi-Wan says, faintly, his Force signature suddenly tinged with inexplicable dread. Anakin shoots him a puzzled look.

“Yup! The Skywalkers are the bestest pilots in the whole Rebellion,” Luke continues. They’ve clearly hit upon one of his great passions. “Ben says it was a joke that Fulcrum started, but the pilots took it super seriously and now after every mission they all rush the hangar to see if they made the cut. Only Fulcrum and the Captain can make the final call, but once they do, everyone starts cheering and whooping and celebrating. I saw it once, when I was super small and we were still with the Rebellion.” He shifts his voice to a whisper and beckons Anakin closer. Anakin bends down, smiling. “One day, I’m gonna be a Skywalker,” Luke whispers in a not-so-soft whisper that even Rex and Cody, with their unenhanced ears, can still hear. “But you can’t tell—it’s bad luck to tell everyone your wishes.”

“Of course,” Anakin nods solemnly, a twinkle in his eye. “I’m honored. Am I your favorite Jedi then?”

“Well—it’s kinda tie between you and Master Plo,” Luke admits. Anakin sniffs, as if insulted. “Your stories are my favorites though for sure, if that makes sense? Ben is the best at your stories—he does all the voices and sounds really well. I guess I didn’t know that you were friends, but it makes sense now—he was there too, that’s why your stories are always the best!”

A broken noise slips out from between Obi-Wan’s lips. Anakin ignores it.

“Hmm. Well, how about we make sure to tell you some new stories? Ones your father hasn’t told you before, that way you can go back and tell him all about what you learned. How does that sound?”

“Wicked cool!” Luke breathes out. Booster slips into the tent and hovers awkwardly in the background.

“Good,” Anakin says with a nod. His eyes flick meaningfully to Booster and then back to Luke. “But only if you’re really good for Booster and get ready for bed quickly—I’ll swing by as soon as we finish up here.”

Luke nods happily and easily slips his hand into Booster’s. He waves cheerily as he leaves the tent.

“Bye Mr. Skywalker! Bye Mr. Cody, Mr. Rex! Bye Past Ben!” he chirps, practically dragging Booster out of the tent in his eagerness.

Anakin watches him go, hands on his hips.

He can hardly wait for the two to fully exit the tent before he whirls around, smiling from ear to ear.

“You hear that, Master?” he crows excitedly. “Best pilot! after all your complaints too. I’m never going to let you live this down—”

“Anakin, do be quiet,” Obi-Wan snaps, before ripping the tent flap open and stomping away.

Anakin turns back to Rex and Cody, bewildered.

“What’d I say?”

Cody gives him a pitying, pursed lip look and stands to his feet.

“Sir,” he says and only Cody can make a respectful _sir_ sound so much like _you utter nerfherder_. “Some future version of General Kenobi shares all these glowing, nostalgic stories of your adventures with his son—in the past tense. All the Jedi are dead, Luke didn’t even recognize you at first, and apparently the Rebellion decided to name one of their suicidal pilot squadrons in your honor. What do you think that _means?_ ”

He follows his General out of the tent.

“Oh. I’m dead,” Anakin says, just a beat too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely encouragement! Please know that, even if I don't respond individually (because work in a pandemic world is just hitting me in the face), all of your kudos and comments mean the absolute world to me!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, quick note, I think technically in TCW canon Satine died before Ahsoka left the Order, but that doesn't really work with my story and tbh most Star Wars writers seem to play fast and loose with timelines anyhow, so I decided to let it stand. So, to be clear, the Lawless arc has NOT happened yet, but the Temple bombing and everything that comes after it did. 
> 
> *backs away slowly and hopes no canon purists come for my head*
> 
> Enjoy!

Anakin finally tracks down Obi-Wan hours later, so much later that the first inklings of dawn are starting to peek over the muddy horizon and highlight the well-worn tents that make up the Republic encampment. At first, Anakin was busy with the last of the mop up—Obi-Wan may have stormed off, but _someone_ still had to help the clones—and then he had to help tuck Luke into bed with a particularly fantastic and embarrassing story from one of his and Obi-Wan’s earliest missions, back in Anakin’s padawan days. And _then_ he had to deal with R2, who wouldn’t stop screeching about being left on the battlefield (mostly he seemed upset that he missed all the excitement and gossip generated by ‘the small copy’) and who was only soothed by an eight-hundred volt upgrade to his little electric prod and a good oil scrub. But after all of that the delay had mostly been due to the inherent difficulty of tracking down Obi-Wan when he doesn’t want to be found—and yeah, Anakin may have been waffling a bit, his heart not totally in the search because he’s not quite sure what he should or even can say in this sort of situation.

Obi-Wan’s found a quiet corner towards the edge of camp—a feat in and of itself as their camps are always a hive of activity, filled with troopers rushing to and from. Anakin shuffles up behind him and waits for a moment. He knows Obi-Wan can sense him—with their never severed training bond it is nigh on impossible for them to sneak up on each other—but he must be pretty mad still, because he refuses to take pity on Anakin and break the silence.

Finally, Anakin clears his throat awkwardly.

“I didn’t put it together until after you left,” he admits quietly. “I didn’t mean to rub your face in it.”

“That’s not an apology, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, exasperated. “But I know you well enough by now to know that this is the best I can hope for.”

“How did you—how did you know?” Anakin ventures, hesitantly. He rubs at the back of his neck. “You always seem to figure out these things before I do.”

Obi-Wan half turns and evaluates him in the dim light. He lets loose a heavy sigh and looks away again.

“I began to suspect as soon as we ascertained Luke’s parentage,” he says, quietly, slowly. “It’s not like I’ve never considered leaving the Order before. I’ve mulled it over enough times to know that there’s a very limited number of situations that would induce me to break my vows like that. I care…very deeply for Satine. But I would not leave the Order to start a family if you were still there. When Luke first spoke of his life with his father, I had hoped that perhaps it only meant you too had chosen to leave the Order, perhaps to pursue your own relationship with Senator Amidala—”

“Wha—I. Um, w-what are you talking about, Master?” Anakin manages to squeak out.

Obi-Wan gives him a _look_.

“Despite what you seem to believe, I am neither blind nor dumb,” he replies sardonically. He shakes his head. “Please don’t tell me you seriously thought you two were being subtle.”

An awkward silence.

“Anakin, really?” Obi-Wan groans.

"How long have you known?"

"I’ve always known.”

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Anakin demands. Obi-Wan looks unbearably sad.

"I was hoping that you'd feel comfortable enough to tell me yourself one day. I suppose I was hoping that you might trust me with this part of yourself."

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” He stops, opens his mouth, then closes and opens it again. “Why—did I…was it something I did? I could never figure out what was holding you back.”

“I—Master, no, I,” Anakin stutters. He shakes his head, then inhales deeply. “I don’t know why I never told you—Padmé’s always wanted to tell you. But I…I couldn’t. At first, I told myself it was just the war—that I’d tell you and resign from the Order as soon as it was over, but then it dragged on and you were nominated to the Council and I—I just didn’t know how to anymore. I guess I thought you wouldn’t understand, that you’d be…ashamed of me.” 

“Oh, Anakin. As Luke is evidence, I clearly understand your desire to leave the Order and be with the woman I love. I don't fault you—I never have."

Suddenly, Anakin’s throat feels tight, his eyes hot and achy.

“I…I can’t tell you how much that means to me, Master,” he chokes out.

“As for shame,” Obi-Wan continues, in a much lighter tone, “it’s not a feeling I’m used to as your Master, but one of the very few times you’ve ever inspired it was when I was forced to watch you flirt with Senator Amidala for the first time, back before Geonosis.” 

Anakin turns crimson.

“It worked, didn’t it,” he mutters.

“A mystery for the ages,” Obi-Wan chuckles good-naturedly and Anakin finds himself smiling through the embarrassment. There’s an amicable silence. In the Force, Anakin feels as if something delicate has been shattered and reforged anew, stronger than ever.

“But, you know, Luke’s existence doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ve left the Order, he could have been an accident—” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow and Anakin trails off. “Okay, yeah you’re right, that doesn’t really sound like you.”

“Satine and I…discussed the matter, once, long ago,” Obi-Wan replies finally with a shrug. “We both have our responsibilities—I to the Order and she to her people—and so we decided never to risk it, not then and not in the few times we’ve reunited since then.”

“What? You mean you’ve never—?”

There’s a pause.

“I do hope, for the Senator’s sake as well as yours, you do realize that there are so many other ways to bring each other pleasure,” Obi-Wan responds, quietly but with a wolfish grin. “So, yes, I’m sure. Luke could not have been an accident. I must have left the Order and if I left the Order, you must be gone as well. I would like to imagine that means that you and Senator Amidala are living happily on Naboo, raising a family of your own, and that perhaps I’m just jumping to wild conclusions. But you’ve never been one to just stand idly by.” 

Anakin smirks and bends his head in acknowledgement, then hesitates, nearly three years of keeping everything about Padmé bottled up is holding him back. But, after a long pause, he decides to offer a joke as an olive branch. For all the heartfelt words of the last hour, jokes and sarcasm are Anakin and Obi-Wan’s native language.

“If you think I’m bad, you should see Padmé—I once tried to convince her to take a three-day vacation and, when that failed, I hid her datapads around the apartment. She nearly clawed my eyes out.”

Obi-Wan startles, then snorts out a laugh.

“For Force’s sake, what made you think that was going to end well?”

“Okay, yeah, it wasn’t my best plan,” Anakin admits, a little sheepishly. “I was just annoyed and the pads were sitting right there on the couch, taunting me!”

“Out of curiosity, where’d you hide them?”

“The kitchen.” At Obi-Wan’s blank look, he elaborates. “Padmé’s just like you—spoiled rich Core kid who has no idea how to cook. She knows how to tell Threepio what to do and to com for takeout and that’s about it.”

“I can make tea!” Obi-Wan protests.

“Yeah, so can every youngling in the Rim,” Anakin says with an eye-roll, a rush of endorphins flooding his system at the familiar banter, easy in a way it hasn’t been in a long, long time. “Boiling leaf water isn’t exactly hard, Master. Though I’ve got to hope you learn at some point in the near future, otherwise I’m worried for poor Luke.”

“You’re one to talk,” Obi-Wan grumbles, good-naturedly. “I’ve seen you eat _bugs.”_

“They’re a delicacy on, like, several thousand worlds.”

“Not live!”

“Are you ever going to let that one go? We’d been in the field for months on half-rations—I was _starving._ The Force provides, isn’t that what you always say?”

“How is it that you only seem to remember any of my teachings when you want to use them in one of your awful quips?”

“I learned from the best,” Anakin says cheekily. “I’ve seen you do the same exact thing to Master Yoda, so don’t you dare play dumb.”

“Hmm, true enough.”

They fall into an easy silence, staring out into the darkness of camp. Finally, Anakin reaches out and lays a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“I know Luke and his future…freaked you out a bit, but we’ll figure it out,” he promises.

“Figure out what? What happened in Luke’s universe? How to prevent it? How to get him home?”

“All of the above. We’ll figure it out, you know we will. This is definitely not the weirdest thing the Force has thrown at us.”

“Really.” Obi-Wan’s voice practically drips with sarcasm.

“Okay, top ten for sure. Maybe top three. But still.” Anakin squints into the sunlight. The sun has well and truly risen at this point, a big round, orange ball in the hazy distance. “We should probably get back to it—Luke’s going to be up soon and he’ll probably want a familiar face.”

“Shouldn’t he be sleeping in? Don’t human younglings do a lot of that?”

“Mmm, newborns and teenagers, sure. But usually around Luke’s age, they’re all full of boundless energy—he’ll pass out after lunch time, yeah, but right now he’s probably raring to go. Didn’t you have rotations in the Creche like all the other Padawans?”

“Master Qui-Gon and I were off planet for most of my apprenticeship,” Obi-Wan replies stiffly. “And, when we were at the Temple, Master Ilyana kindly…requested that I be assigned elsewhere for my rotations.”

“Requested...? What in the Sith hells did you _do?”_

Obi-Wan is saved from having to respond to that by the timely arrival of Rex.

“Sirs!” Rex says, snapping out a smart salute. Anakin and Obi-Wan turn as one.

“Yes, Captain?”

“The Senator has arrived to help with negotiations,” Rex announces. Anakin groans dramatically, partly to play up a long running joke with Obi-Wan and partly because, well, he really does hate working with these stupid Senators.

Rex’s lips twitch and Anakin stares suspiciously at him.

“What?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Don’t you ‘nothing, sir’ me, Rex—what was that face?” Anakin demands as he reluctantly falls in line and marches towards the makeshift landing area they’ve set up to the south of the camp.

“Just maybe actually meet with them face to face before you start complaining too much, okay, sir?” Rex insists. “Who knows, maybe you’ll actually like working with them.”

Obi-Wan trades a glance with Rex and the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“How come I feel like you both know something I don’t?” Anakin grumbles. “Okay, if we’re doing this, let’s go pick up Luke first— _he’ll_ be on my side.”

“So you’re now relying on the seven-year-old to protect you from the big bad Senator?” Obi-Wan says. “An excellent plan, my young Padawan, I now understand why the Holonet dubbed you the ‘one of the modern Republic’s great tacticians.’”

Anakin sputters indignantly as Rex laughs uproariously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One secret & misunderstanding down, ten gazillion more to go!
> 
> As always, your comments and kudos really do make my day and make this fic worth writing/sharing. Even if it's just to squeal and say how much you love baby Luke (which, no duh, SAME why do you think I'm writing this?!) I really do treasure every comment and I swear I will actually try to respond!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could just squeal--literally every single comment and kudos just makes me feel like I'm walking on the moon!
> 
> hope you enjoy this latest little addition. :)

As Anakin predicts, Luke is wide awake and eagerly awaiting their arrival. He jumps to his knees on the little cot that Booster managed to find and stares with wide eyes as Obi-Wan and Anakin enter the tent.

“You’re real,” he breathes, eyes shining. Anakin smiles.

“Of course,” he confirms. He pauses. “Any reason we wouldn’t be?”

“Sometimes I see things,” Luke replies easily. “I mostly know when something’s real, but it’s tricky sometimes. You didn’t _look_ like the not real people—they’re usually kinda bluish—but sometimes I get these dreams that feel like I’m awake.”

“Those must be some very realistic Force visions,” Obi-Wan says, neutrally. Across their bond, Anakin can feel concern tugging fiercely at Obi-Wan’s thoughts.

Luke shrugs.

“Ben says that when all the Jedi died the Force didn’t have anyone to speak to,” he explains. “So I get ‘bom-bard-ed’ with all these dreams because I’m the only one listening anymore.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan share an alarmed look over Luke’s head.

“Okay then,” Anakin says, clapping his hands together and forcing some false cheer into his voice. “We have to go meet an important Senator, how’d you like to come with us?”

Luke looks unimpressed.

“This is like when Ben won’t leave me alone because he thinks I’ll somehow get in trouble if he leaves me alone for two clicks, isn’t it?” Luke sighs dramatically.

Anakin opens his mouth, but Obi-Wan beats him to it.

“Considering the one time he seems to have left you unsupervised, you somehow managed to travel across the multiverse, I don’t really blame him.”

Luke squints, shrugs, then shakes out his hair with his fingers.

“Okay, ready!”

He scrambles off the bed and rushes over to stand in between Obi-Wan and Anakin.

They set off across the camp, Rex nodding in acknowledgement and falling in line beside them as they exit the tent. Luke practically skips ahead, glancing curiously around every corner and examining each clone critically. They all watch him, bemused.

“What are you looking for, little Kenobi?” Rex finally asks.

“The Captain.” Luke looks hopefully to them. “Maybe you know him? He looks like you, but he’s kinda old, with a shaved head and a big bushy beard!”

“I have many millions of brothers,” Rex says gently. “So no, I don’t know a clone that fits that description, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist—perhaps I just haven’t met him yet.”

“Good point,” Luke says, nodding his head seriously. “I’ll keep an eye out though. So who’s this Senator person we’re going to meet?”

“Someone to help us with the negotiations,” Obi-Wan explains as they approach a bright red Republic diplomatic vessel, cooling its engines in the brushed-out dirt of the landing area.

“More like hinder us,” Anakin adds with a roll of his eyes. 

“Come now, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, a hint of reproach in his voice and a twinkle in his eye. Anakin watches him warily—that’s the same look Obi-Wan gets whenever he’s setting up some fiendishly clever verbal trap for his old padawan. “Perhaps they will be of some use—Force know we could use the help.”

“Ha! A useful politician, now there’s a joke,” Anakin insists with a huff. He turns to Luke and wags his finger sternly. “Don’t you listen to Obi-Wan, young man—there’s no such thing.” 

“Oh, really?” an amused, feminine voice interjects. “And here I thought we were friends, General Skywalker.”

Anakin whirls around, heart half in his throat, mouth open in disbelief as he’s greeted by the sight of his wife. They stare for a moment, drinking each other in, until Padmé smiles slightly and inclines her head, walking down the ramp of the Republic ship. 

“I, uh. Hum. I guess—there might be one or two good ones,” he admits, breathlessly. Rex rolls his eyes so hard Anakin’s convinced they’re about to fly out of his head. Anakin shoots him a look.

“Senator Amidala, it is so wonderful to see you,” Obi-Wan says, warmly. He steps forward and offers her a clasped hand greeting. Padmé looks vaguely startled at the familiarity—she and Obi-Wan are friends, yes, but Obi-Wan tends to hold everyone, even Anakin, even Cody at a bit of a distance. She looks expectantly to Anakin, but he only spreads his hands in a gesture of helpless confusion. She turns back to Obi-Wan and smiles.

“Of course, Master Kenobi,” she replies. “It is so good to see you as well. You and General Skywalker make it back to Coruscant so infrequently these days. I have missed our afternoon teas together.”

“And I as well,” Obi-Wan replies. “Perhaps we can arrange just such a session after the negotiations have concluded? With that rich North Nubian blend?”

“Mmm, that is one of my favorites,” Padmé agrees. She squeezes Obi-Wan’s hand one last time and then turns back to Anakin. Her eyes dart down.

Then, she blinks.

“And who is this?”

“Who is—” Anakin follows her gaze. “Oh! This is Luke.” As Padmé raises an eyebrow, he realizes how useless that is as an explanation. He glances over to Luke, who is staring at Padmé intensely. Anakin shakes him a little. “Luke, say hello to Pad—Senator Amidala. She’s an old friend of mine and Ben’s. Senator Amidala, this is Luke. He’s uh. From the future. He’s staying with us until we can figure out a way to return him to his time.”

Padmé’s eyebrow looks like it is about to fly straight off of her face.

“The future?” she asks, incredulously. She looks ready to argue, then pauses. “The Force?” she asks, in a resigned tone of voice.

“The Force,” Anakin and Obi-Wan confirm as one.

“Well, then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Luke,” she says, bending down a little to hold out a hand. Luke takes it shyly and gives her a couple of tentative pumps of a handshake.

“Hi,” he says. “Are you an angel?”

Padmé pulls back abruptly and her mouth opening and closing. Her face has gone pale.

Anakin grumbles a little to himself—that’s _his_ line, thank you very much.

“Good to know the Kenobi charm is genetic,” he sighs. Padmé’s head snaps up from where she’s staring at Luke.

“Wait, what?”

“He’s Obi-Wan’s son,” Anakin clarifies. He shrugs. “From the future obviously, but still. I can’t believe future Obi-Wan passed on his ability to flirt effortlessly with everything that moves.”

“Obi-Wan’s son?” Padmé repeats, a rare moment of slow comprehension. Normally, Anakin is always racing to keep up with her. “As in…our Obi-Wan?”

“Yup,” Anakin confirms. “Weird, I know.”

“You’re…sure?” she asks again, eyes darting between Luke and Anakin too rapidly for Anakin to track.

“Quite sure,” Obi-Wan says, finally. Padmé tilts her head, a troubled, puzzled sort of look on her face. She stares at Luke, who offers her an adorably lopsided beaming smile that could melt even Master Windu’s heart. But Padmé only regards Luke evenly for a moment— Anakin’s her husband and even he’s never been able to truly distract her when she gets some sort of an idea in her head.

Finally, she shakes her head and offers Luke a hesitant smile.

“Well then, it sounds like you’ve been on quite the adventure, Luke.”

“Uh-huh,” Luke chirps. “It’s fine! I’m having fun with Past Ben and Anakin! I’m learning lots. It’s kinda cool, though, getting to meet all of Ben’s friends, even though I’ve only ever seen them in holos before.”

“Ben?” Padmé asks, sliding her eyes over to Obi-Wan.

“It’s an alias I assumed on a few undercover missions back in my padawan days. Evidently, my future self uses the name as well,” Obi-Wan replies. He frowns at Luke. “Holos? Have you seen Senator Amidala before then—in these holos?”

“Uh-huh,” Luke repeats. He flashes them another smile, then frowns. “We used to have a few and Ben used to take them out and tell stories, but we lost them a couple of planets back. The smuggler we hitched a ride with gave us up to the Imps and we had to run for it. It was my fault, too—I’m not supposed to touch Ben’s stuff but I opened up his box and took some of them out and we didn’t have time to pack them all up.”

“I’m sure Ben was just happy that you made it out safely.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said, but I could still tell he was super sad.”

“It is often the case that two things are true at once,” Padmé says sagely. Luke wrinkles his nose.

“You sound like Ben,” he says accusingly.

“Perhaps it’s because your father and I are both very wise,” she suggests with a laugh. Padmé straightens out and brushes some invisible wrinkle from her latest outfit—plainer than her usual Senatorial garb but embroidered with highly ornamental gold filigree. “Come on then, do you think you can show me to the command tent? The Generals and I have a lot to discuss.”

Luke spins around, squinting in every direction as he tries to orient himself. He makes a move as if he is about to dash off, but Rex catches him by the scruff of his neck and forces Luke to take on a more sedate pace—all while muttering about ‘being too old for this _jetii_ nonsense.’

Padmé, Anakin, and Obi-Wan fall in behind them, weaving deftly across the muddy ground and around groups of clones attempting to repair weapons, armor, and ships.

“Luke’s future does not sound like a happy one,” she says in a low voice, shooting a concerned glance towards Obi-Wan. He purses his lips and glances away.

“Mm, not exactly,” he agrees.

“I’m dead, the Sith have taken over, and apparently Luke has spent his entire life on the run,” Anakin explains. Padmé inhales sharply and then slaps Anakin’s shoulder. “Ow, what was that for?”

Padmé gives Anakin her signature _I-can’t-believe-I-agreed-to-marry-this-nerfherder_ look (which hey, fair, Anakin that wonders himself sometimes).

“We won’t let that happen, Master Kenobi,” Padmé says sternly. “Especially now that we have Luke’s warnings to inform us. We have plenty time to prepare—there must be some way to protect you and your son from that future.”

“I—I don’t know what to say to that,” Obi-Wan says, sounding a little taken aback. “I suppose…thank you.”

“Thanks are hardly necessary,” Padmé replies briskly, with a wave of her hand. “You’re a friend, Master Kenobi, and you’ll find there’s very little I wouldn’t do for my friends.”

“Trying to alter the future can have dire, unintended consequences,” Obi-Wan warns, his voice cracked, heavy.

“But we’re trying to prevent the Sith from taking over the Galaxy and killing literally all the Jedi! How can that be bad?” Anakin protests.

“Sometimes I swear it’s like you never listen to a word I say,” Obi-Wan mutters.

“Hey, I’m trying to be helpful, old man!”

“Anakin!” Padmé chides. She pauses. “Okay, perhaps he could have put it better but Ani—General Skywalker does have a point. Surely, if it’s to change the future for the better—”

“We don’t _know_ enough to say it’s for the better,” Obi-Wan says. He sighs and pauses just outside the command tent. “It’s one of the fundamental lessons we learn as Padawans—one I _tried_ to impart to Anakin, with all too little success, evidently. The Force is powerful and all-knowing, yes—but _we_ are not. We may mean well, but it is all too easy to misinterpret the signs the Force sends us. History is littered with the stories of Jedi who thought they knew better and who often blundered into the very future they were trying to prevent simply by taking action to prevent it.” He pauses, eyes flicking to Anakin and shoulders hunching. “It’s why…it’s why I dissuaded you from acting on your dreams about your mother.”

“Oh, yes and what a brilliant idea that was, oh clever little Jedi master!” Anakin snaps, a sudden, familiar, and impossible-to-tamp-down-anger welling up in him at the mention of his mother. “She died because of you!”

“We don’t _know_ that—we’ll never know what might have happened had you gone to her earlier or not gone to her at all. For all we know, your decision to seek her out was the very event that precipitated her death.”

“How dare you—!” Anakin cries, hot tears of impotent rage stinging his eyes.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Anakin, I’m just trying to make you see—we can’t allow visions of a not-yet future to blind us to the here and now. Believe me, I would have given anything to spare you the pain of what you witnessed, anything. I know how you must have felt—”

“Know how I felt? How could you?” Anakin snarls, lashing out with his words and his presence in the Force. Obi-Wan rears back, eyes flashing.

“And who do you think held Qui-Gon Jinn as he lay dying?” Obi-Wan retorts.

“As if that could even come close to what I—”

“He was my Master for twelve years! My family.”

“Oh, so now the Jedi care about family?”

“They’re your family too!”

“No, Obi-Wan, they’re _yours._ They’ve never been mine and you know it! The other Padawans always refused to play or spar or eat with me. You know why I’m so good with Luke, huh? Because I literally spent every spare moment I had in the Creche—the only Jedi in whole kriffing Temple that weren’t old enough to care about the way everyone else whispered about me.”

“Stop being ridiculous, you know that’s not true—”

Anakin steps forward, hands clenched, ready to lunge and—

“That is _enough_ ,” Padmé says, stepping in between them. Anakin barely has enough time arrest the movement of his fists. Padmé doesn’t flinch as his hand skitters to a stop mere centimeters from her face.

“You’re siding with him?” Anakin demands, lowering his fists.

She lifts her chin defiantly.

“I am siding with no one,” she declares, a steely look in her eyes. “But you need to calm down, Anakin. Now.”

“But—” He steps forward, as if continue his confrontation with Obi-Wan—it feels so _good_ to finally let it all bubble and burst to the surface like this, so good—and he only means to shove her out of the way, but at the movement of his arm she flinches.

She flinches.

The fury drains from his veins, leaving only a cold, awful feeling sludge behind. He stares down at his hands in horror, then glances up only to see Obi-Wan and Padmé watching him warily, Obi-Wan angling his body slightly as if to protect Padmé.

From Anakin.

And his men are all staring at him, a range of shock and uncertainty radiating from all of them—Cody and Appo and Rex and…Luke.

Luke, staring at him with wide, scared eyes, hugging himself tight as if to try and protect his body and mind from the suffocating anger Anakin is spilling into the Force.

“I—I’m going to go,” Anakin stammers out, turning on his heel.

He runs away to the sound of Obi-Wan and Rex calling out his name and the constant, pounding thought in his head:

 _Everything I touch turns to ash._


	5. Chapter 5

The clanking of armor is what gives him away.

Anakin hides his face in his knees, folding his long frame into a tighter ball and burrowing more deeply into his hiding place—a convenient divot in the walls of a dusty canyon about three miles from the camp. He knows he is mostly invisible from the top of the ridge line unless someone is standing at a very specific vantage point and, to further deter his do-gooder men, it’s a steep, treacherous walk (well, more of a slide really) down.

“Go away, Rex,” he growls, angry, embarrassed, _frustrated_ tears dripping out from behind screwed tight lids despite his best efforts.

“Not Rex,” a familiar but unexpected voice says.

Anakin’s head flies upwards, his eyes wide with shock as he whirls and spots… _Cody_ of all people, standing less than a meter away.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he demands angrily. Cody arches an eyebrow.

“Directing the Open Circle Fleet, commanding the 212th, helping my General find his wayward former apprentice,” Cody replies drolly. “You know, my job.”

Anakin whirls back around, the tops of his cheeks and ears flushing. How come _everybody_ always runs verbal circles around him? He never gets the last word, never.

“Well you can just leave me here, I’m sure everyone would be better off,” Anakin snaps back, hunching his shoulders as he tucks his hands ever deeper into his armpits

“See, I happen to agree with you, but the thing is, everyone else feels differently. So differently that they’re out there right now, worried sick and searching for you.”

Anakin narrows his eyes.

“Must not be searching very hard if you’re the one that found me first.”

“Eh,” Cody shrugs. “I have the benefit of listening to listening to both my General and my brother complain non-stop about your antics—by now I have a pretty good idea of how to find you when you’re throwing a temper tantrum.”

“Temper tantrum?” Anakin demands, outraged. He glares.

“Case in point,” Cody replies archly.

Anakin blows out a sigh.

"So, is that why you hate me so much? Because you dislike my _temper tantrums_?” Anakin says, practically spitting out the last two words.

"I don't hate you, Skywalker," Cody says derisively, plopping down on the dusty ground beside Anakin. "I don't like you. That's not the same thing—a distinction it sounds like you could stand to learn. The other Jedi may not like you very much, but that doesn’t mean they’re out to get you. Sir.”

“You don’t know what it was like,” Anakin mutters, looking away. “What it _is_ like. They’ve never accepted me, never.”

“Mmm. Ever tried meditating with them?”

“What? No—what does that have to do with anything?”

“First thing the other Generals do when they get back Templeside is go to the meditation halls and do this weird joint meditation session thingy. Wolffe says that General Koon says that it is how you all ‘reaffirm your connection to each other’ or something. But you’re the only General that never goes.”

“Oh. I. Um. I’m not very good at meditation. I uh…never saw the point of it. Didn’t have the patience.”

“Yeah, figured. But even Commander Tano used to go and I don’t think anyone would ever go accusing her of being patient.”

“What’s your point?” Anakin finally snaps.

“All the other Jedi meditate together. All of them. Except for you. Now is that because they never invited you or because they offered once or twice and you told them ‘you didn’t see the point of it’?”

“I—I don’t remember,” Anakin says, shifting uncomfortably. Cody looks at him pityingly.

“I’m not saying that you’re not right to feel a little different, a little excluded,” he continues. “I actually think you’re probably right—the other Jedi don’t seem to like being around you. But to be entirely fair, the feeling does seem to be mutual and you’re not at all subtle. I don’t know a lot of sentients who like hanging around someone who so clearly dislikes everything about them and their culture.”

“Okay, so you’ve made your point,” Anakin mutters, turning his head away. “I’m a terrible Jedi and now everyone else knows it too because of my so-called tantrum. I look forward to the wonderful lecture I’m sure Obi-Wan’s already rehearsing in his head. Maybe Padmé and Rex will join in too, how lovely that will be.”

“Oh, like they haven’t forgiven you already,” Cody snorts. "Well I suppose I can't speak for the Senator, but I'm sure General Kenobi and Rex have already forgiven you, just like they always do.”

"You can't know that!"

"Oh, I can't? We both know this is hardly the worst thing he's overlooked," Cody says, arching an eyebrow and making Anakin feel very small and stupid. Suddenly, he frowns, seeming to truly comprehend Anakin’s blank stare of incomprehension. "Do you really not know?”

"Know what?"

Cody turns to face forward, his mouth twisting.

"Do you know which General has the highest casualties in the GAR, sir?"

"Uh..." Anakin has no idea what to do with this non-sequitur.

"I'll save you the trouble: it's you. By a lot."

"I do not! I would never treat the 501st so carelessly, how dare you—"

"Not troopers. Separatists. The ones we're supposed to subdue, imprison, and take back to Coruscant for a proper trial. Those casualties. They do count, you know."

"I mean, yeah, I never really kept track, but yeah, I suppose. We're not supposed to, but they don’t exactly come willingly. I'm sure a lot of the Generals have the same problem."

"No, they don't,” Cody replies crisply. “Almost eighty-six percent of the Separatist commanders you're sent after die. The next closest was General Krell, back before he...did whatever that was on Umbara, at eighty percent. And after that? General Vos—but his numbers shift back to the average if you take out all of his Shadow missions—the unofficial official assassinations that we’re not supposed to talk about."

"I—"

"And do you know how I know this? Because I'm General Kenobi's second and we have to file casualty paperwork with the Council and a bunch of Senate subcommittees. It's all there if you care to look. And the only reason that no one else has looked, the only reason why you haven't been dragged in front of the Council or Senate for war crimes is because General Kenobi has been covering your ass. So, yeah, I know he'll forgive you your little temper tantrum. It's far from the worst thing he's forgiven you for."

Anakin is stunned into silence for a moment.

“I—what.” Anakin’s voice sounds small and tinny, even to his own ears. “Why would he do that?” 

"Stars—I know not all of you Jedi are this dense, Bly and Wolffe's Generals are perfectly normal! What did I do to get stuck with the two most emotionally repressed sentients in the whole Republic?" This seems more rhetorical than anything else, so Anakin stays silent. Cody sighs. "Well if he won't say it, I will. It's because he loves you, dumbass."

"But I—what?"

"Tell me, if it was Commander Tano going around slaughtering enemy combatants left and right, breaking all sorts of laws, wouldn't you bend your morals for her? Wouldn't you come up with excuse after excuse to justify her behavior and forgive her every time?"

"Of course," Anakin says, without hesitation. Cody just stares, his eyes boring holes in the side of Anakin's head. "Ah. I see your point." He pauses, guilt tearing raggedly at the edges of his stomach. “He shouldn’t though. I—I’m not a good Jedi…a good person, not like Ahsoka. I’ve…lied to Obi-Wan. For a long time.”

“Is this about your affair with Senator Amidala? Because I hate to break it to you, but if you were lying to Obi-Wan about that, then you weren’t doing it very successfully.”

“What? No! Does _everyone_ know about that?” Anakin groans. Cody arches an eyebrow, opening his mouth. “No, never mind, don’t answer that.” He swallows. “No, not about that. About...I brushed the Dark. Once. After my mom died.”

Anakin fidgets nervously with his hands as Cody cocks his head, his face carefully blank. 

“Bad?”

Anakin nods silently.

“Very bad?”

Anakin looks away. He clears his throat.

“It’s like—it’s like I have this sandstorm raging inside me,” he confesses, quietly, something he’s never really admitted to anyone, ever. “And most of the time I can keep it locked away, but sometimes—like back at the camp—it just…I can’t control it and I hurt everyone around me. And sometimes—like when my mom died—I…it gets even worse and I do…bad things. I don’t know how to make it stop. I wish I did. I don’t _want_ to hurt Obi-Wan and Padmé, but…”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Well, _that_ doesn’t sound healthy,” Cody declares with a shake of his head. He purses his lips. “And I’m seriously not trying to make a joke right now, because it seems like the wrong time, but really this is so far above my paygrade it’s not even funny. I don’t understand a lot about the Force, you know. But you do happen to spend like three-quarters of your waking hours with a real live Jedi Master who not only would be so much better equipped for this conversation, but also cares for you very deeply. Ever considered telling any of this to him?”

Anakin blanches.

“I—I can’t. If I told him—” Anakin’s words start high-pitched, frantic, then trail off into silence.

“Oh—that bad?”

Anakin nods, stiffly. He opens his mouth.

“I found my mother, right before she died, and afterwards I—”

“Nope,” Cody says, holding up a hand.

“What?” he squawks. Cody gives him a deeply judgmental look.

“I am not about to let you use me as a stand in for General Kenobi. You forget, I know you, Skywalker. Far better than either of us would like. You’ll dump all this on me and then use that as an excuse to avoid telling General Kenobi. But that’s a piss-poor plan, if you’ll excuse the language, sir. Afterall, it’s not _my_ forgiveness you really want, yeah?”

Anakin is stunned into silence.

“ _Anakin_!” A small high-pitched voice interrupts him, full of joy. Anakin whirls around and sees Luke’s small tow-headed little figure on the ridge above, jumping and waving his arms madly. “Padmé! Ben! I found him, I found him!” Behind Luke, Padmé, Obi-Wan, and Rex crest the hill and pause for a moment. Then Padmé begins to run down the hill, nearly tripping all over herself as she reaches Anakin and throws herself into his arms. His seated position and still buzzing mind make the embrace rather awkward, but he can already feel himself relaxing infinitesimally with Padmé safe in his arms and seemingly unaffected by his earlier outburst. 

“Don’t you dare ever do that again!” she cries, squeezing him so tightly that Anakin is half-afraid she is about to suffocate him to death.

“Padmé, I just went for a walk,” Anakin says, a little bewildered. “It’s not like I was in any danger.”

She pulls back and slaps his chest, wiping angry, frustrated tears out of the corners of her eyes as she glares at him.

“You were gone for hours! In an active warzone! Even Obi-Wan was worried—to say nothing of the heart attack you gave poor Rex.”

“You weren’t answering your com, sir,” Rex pants as he, Obi-Wan, and Luke finally catch up. Padmé hastily draws back and rubs awkwardly at her arms as she looks anywhere but at Anakin. Cody raises an eyebrow as he looks between the two of them and Anakin blushes, standing to his feet as he brushes dust from his robes.

“You were blocking me out,” Obi-Wan adds, quietly, something _hurt_ in his voice. He lays a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “It was Senator Amidala who figured out that Luke could still sense you—apparently you haven’t shielded him out fully and he’s quite attuned to your Force signature.”

“I—” Anakin has no idea what to say to that. He has all these words bursting in his chest, swirling around in his heart and his stomach, things he almost admitted to _Cody,_ of all people—but this is all too familiar and by now Anakin knows very well how to swallow hard and push it all down, until the Darkness no longer threatens to burst out and taint everyone and everything around him.

Luke lunges forward and darts between Padmé and Obi-Wan, crashing into Anakin. He wraps both arms around Anakin’s knees.

“You scared me!” he says accusingly, voice muffled in Anakin’s tabards. “You can’t do that! You’re Ben’s bestest friend in the whole Galaxy and you just left him! Anakin Skywalker would never do that, never.”

“Hey, Luke,” Obi-Wan says, reaching out and gently trying to draw his son away from Anakin. “It’s okay. Anakin just got angry and he made a mistake scaring you—us— like that. But he picked himself back up, see? That’s important part when you make a mistake and no one’s better at it than Anakin.”

And all of a sudden, Anakin feels something inside himself crack and give way.

He can’t keep doing this, he won’t. Somehow, he’s always thought that Obi-Wan and the rest of the Council could see right through him, to the Darkness underneath, and he’s a little bewildered by this sudden, very tangible evidence of how well he’s apparently fooled Obi-Wan. Meeting Luke is like…like watching all of Obi-Wan’s trust and goodness condensed into small human form, without any of the polite distance or carefully neutral masks that his old Master so often employs. Luke clearly idolizes Anakin, loves him and believes in him dearly and desperately, despite never having met Anakin before his little cross-universe journey. There’s really only one person he could have learned that unshakeable faith from. And that’s—Anakin doesn’t deserve that.

He desperately wishes he did.

“Rex, Cody,” Anakin says, quietly, “can you take Luke back to camp? There’s…there’s some things I need to discuss with Obi-Wan.”

“What, but sir—” Rex protests. Cody clamps a hand down on his brother’s upper arm.

“Very good, sir,” he says, voice neutral as his eyes connect with Anakin’s and he nods once, slowly, something like approval in the motion. “C’mon, little Kenobi, it’s back to camp for you. I’m sure you’re hungry after all your searching.” And there must be something in his tone because Luke only hesitates a little and gives no verbal protestations as he is led away.

“And me?” Padmé says softly, extending a hand, but halting her fingertips before they brush up against the back of Anakin’s hand. He rotates his mechno-hand and clasps her soft hand tightly.

“You should stay. You know some of it. But. Not all. And you should.” He turns to Obi-Wan. “You both should. I—I’ve done terrible things, Master. And I understand that, but I just—can you wait until the end to…to do whatever it is you need to do? I don’t think I’ll be able to get it out otherwise.”

Obi-Wan folds himself down into a meditation pose, drawing both Anakin and Padmé down to sit with him.

“Of course, Anakin. Whatever you need,” Obi-Wan declares, eyes bright and concerned, but also full of so much—well, after listening to Cody, Anakin supposes it must be love. He hopes there’s still a shred of that left for him after he finishes, but it’s too late to turn back now.

Anakin swallows, inhales deeply, and begins his confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some author notes because I love sharing my process with y'all and wanted give my perspective on some things, particularly, the sudden, wild nature of Anakin's character in this piece. Yes, things are escalating quickly, but:  
> 1\. imo this is 100% in line with canon Anakin's characterization. Now some of that is poor writing, but we also frequently see Anakin vacillating between extremes, especially the closer we are in the timeline to his fall (see Rush Clovis Arc of TCW, see committing mass genocide basically overnight in ROTS). Anakin is NOT an emotionally stable being, both by nature and by the result of being hella traumatized and manipulated.   
> 2\. I wanted to get to all the lovely, emotionally heart-wrenching but much needed conversations without having to deal with all the build-up. So if the pacing is all over the place, that's on me, keep in mind, there's no beta for this monstrosity. 
> 
> Also: what obi-wan is doing is hella morally suspect and breaking like five different legal and ethical codes, so don't do it kiddos. If you think your friends are a danger to themselves or others, you should report them: it protects other people but equally as important it helps them get the help they need.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 12/14: Trigger warning for allusions to genocide (it's faint but there)

Both Padmé and Obi-Wan are silent—too silent—as Anakin’s voice finally peters out some time later. He doesn’t know how long it has actually been, but it feels like it has been hours, days even—his eyes hot and scratchy with barely contained tears. He can’t help but feel that he’s made a terrible mistake as the two most important people in his Galaxy refuse to meet his eyes and the Force is strangely quiet, still, as if it too is holding its breath.

He redirects his gaze to the dusty ground, covered in uneven patches of dry, crackly grass, and swallows. The motion seems too loud in the silence and it unnerves Anakin, so used to the constant clamor and clanging of the Force battering against his shields.

“Oh, Ani,” Padmé says, finally, voice whisper-soft. Her words are full of heartbreak and she reaches out a hand to lay over his tightly clasped one. Her thumb rubs circles on the skin in between his thumb and index finger. Anakin flashes her a tense, hesitant smile and she smiles back sadly. “You’re a good person, Anakin.”

“I’m not though,” Anakin protests, hunching his shoulders and trying to draw his hand out from underneath Padmé’s. But for a petite humanoid, she’s got a surprisingly strong grip and Anakin has no interest in hurting her physically on top of all the other emotional turmoil he’s inflicted upon her today.

“You’ve done bad things,” Padmé agrees, “but I’ve always known that, even before we—” She freezes up, words choking out as she snatches her hand away and glances towards Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You don’t need to worry, Padmé,” Anakin says hurriedly. “He…uh, _knows_.”

She relaxes, exhaling deeply and extending her hand to Anakin once more.

“Oh, thank Shiraya,” she says. She bites her lip. “We never wanted to keep this from you, Obi-Wan, you must understand. But we were so scared—”

“Yes, yes,” Obi-Wan says, brusquely, his words crisp, sharp. “And I’d love to hear _that_ explanation. But later. More to the immediate issue at hand—you knew about this?”

Anakin wants to flinch backwards at his tone, more searing than a blow with a saber blade, but Padmé only straightens her spine and lifts her chin.

“I accompanied him to Tatooine,” she says. “I saw the…aftermath.”

“And you didn’t think to say anything to anyone? To help him? Your lover slaughters an entire village of innocents and you don’t think that, at the very least, a conversation with a Mind Healer may be in order?”

“They weren’t innocent,” Padmé throws back, eyes narrowed stubbornly. Obi-Wan looks horrified.

“There were children! How can you say—”

“ _You didn’t see her body!_ ” Padmé hisses. Obi-Wan rears back and her shoulders slump. “Tatooine tradition holds that family members must wash the body before burial. Anakin and Owen couldn’t—couldn’t even look at it too long—so Beru and I were left with the task. I know it was wrong, Obi-Wan, I know. But you didn’t see her body, you didn’t see the way they dug hooks into her skin as they raped her over and over again. I—” she pauses, chokes. “After the Battle of Naboo, as we tried to dismantle the camps and make records of the Trade Federation’s crimes, I would get daily reports of all we found. I even visited a couple of the camps. My people, starved, beaten, tortured, killed, all because of some sick power play. In those moments, sitting through those reports, there were times when I wished I could have rained fire and death upon Neimodia and killed every single last member of Nute Gunray’s family. I wouldn’t have given a single goddamn what happened to the innocents I took down along the way.”

Anakin reaches out and pulls Padmé close to his body in a one-armed embrace. She leans against him, almost as if she is collapsing, the way she always does when she wakes up from nightmares about the blockade and battle.

“Shh,” Anakin says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m not saying it was right or justified or anything like that, just that…I understand. I’ve had those same thoughts. So perhaps I looked the other way when I shouldn’t have, but I just couldn’t think of condemning Ani for the same thoughts I’d once had myself.”

“But you didn’t act on those thoughts,” Obi-Wan points out gently. Padmé gives a wry smile.

“Yes. But some days I suspect that has more to do with a lack of opportunity rather than a lack of will,” she replies. “Believe me, if Naboo had had any warships—I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Unfortunately, because of his strength is the Force, Anakin has plenty of opportunity to cause mass destruction, warships or no warships,” Obi-Wan says, gently. He finally meets Anakin’s eyes. “And that, Anakin, is why we emphasize control over our emotions, why the Code that I know you chafe against is so strict. All people have these thoughts while angry or frustrated or jealous, but not all people have the ability to act on them as immediately and as terribly we do. I am…so sorry for failing you to teach you this.”

“Master—no!”

“No, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, firmly, not raising his voice. He holds up a hand to forestall any further protest. “I saw how you struggled with meditation and your lessons—but did nothing. The lessons had worked for hundreds of generations of Jedi, so I did not see why I should change it for you. But that is wrong. Everyone learns differently and I should have tried harder to meet you halfway. I am sorry for that, for you.”

“Stop speaking like he’s some sort of lost cause!” Padmé demands, her grip tightening. “He’s not, Obi-Wan, no one is! Good people can do bad things, but that doesn’t mean there’s not still good in them, that they can’t still find their way back.”

“He’s not wrong,” Anakin murmurs and Padmé shakes her head stubbornly, glaring at them both.

“It’s always all or nothing with you Jedi,” she huffs.

“Only a Sith deals in absolutes.”

“That is blatantly untrue,” Padmé shoots backs. “I don’t understand the Force, but I do understand people. Anakin made a terrible decision, but that doesn’t mean he’s doomed to that path forever. And if we stop believing that, _that’s_ what will condemn him, more surely than any single action he takes. He can’t fight his way back if we just give up on him.”

“I’m not giving up on him, I would _never._ ” Obi-Wan says harshly and the bands around Anakin’s lungs loosen by just a fraction of a millimeter. He sighs, scrubs at his face. “I don’t know what else to say. I’ll find a way to help you and stop this from happening over and over again. But I don’t have those answers right now, I need give me some time to process this.”

“I—thank you, Master,” Anakin says. “It’s more than I deserve. I never thought—I never thought you’d forgive me.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, somewhat severely. “Let me be clear, I’m not offering you a free pass. I can’t—something like this…I’m not sure anyone can really offer you absolution. Maybe the remaining Sand People, if you were to reach out to them one day. But really, this is between you and the Force.”

“But you—”

“I’m only a foolish old man,” Obi-Wan replies sadly. “For what it is worth—I think I will find a way to forgive you, one day. But I was not the one harmed and my attachment to you hardly makes me a neutral party.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Anakin declares. Both Obi-Wan and Padmé wince and Anakin stares at them uncomprehendingly.

“It’s really not,” Padmé sighs. “You’ve always said things like that and, at the time, I thought you were just being romantic, but I’m now realizing you mean it quite literally. I don’t think that it’s helping this whole…darkness thing you described.”

“it’s something we’ll have to work on,” Obi-Wan agrees, looking relieved that he and Padmé are finally on the same page. Anakin blinks, frustration and anger growing alongside his confusion.

“What’s—” he opens his mouth to protest, then abruptly closing it, remembering his resolve, mere hours earlier not to lash out at Obi-Wan and Padmé ever again. The self-enforced silence only makes his helpless anger grow until he doesn’t even know what he’s angry about—

 _Slow down_.

A command, emanating from Obi-Wan’s suddenly unshielded side of the bond. His spinning, spiraling thoughts seem to do just that, as if they are suddenly caught in slow moving tree sap, slowing down ever more and more until Anakin can catch the edge of one fluttering, tangled emotion and unravel it down to its core. His anger is instantly…well, it doesn’t disappear, but it changes shape. His helplessness and frustration are just that…helplessness and frustration, rather than fuel for his rage. It’s not a good feeling by any means, but it’s also so much better than what was building in him not so long ago. 

“Did that help?” Obi-Wan asks. Padmé’s eyes shift between them, uncertain.

“Yes,” Anakin admits in a small voice. Obi-Wan nods thoughtfully.

“An old trick I developed as a Padawan, to calm my temper,” he says, finally.

“You, a temper?” Anakin repeats, dumbfounded. Obi-Wan gives a self-deprecating half-smile that’s really more of a smirk.

“Ah, you’d be surprised…after you made me nearly tear my hair out after your fifth fight with another Padawan, Master Windu opined that it was almost certainly payback for all of the times _I_ had caused the same frustration in my creche masters.”

Anakin’s jaw drops.

Padmé snorts.

“I’m not surprised,” she declares. Anakin swivels his head to her, mouth open in protest. She raises an eyebrow. “Anakin, the only reason anyone even considers Obi-Wan the calm, reasonable one is because they’re comparing him to _you._ And that’s just a terrible frame of reference.”

“I just—I never knew,” Anakin says. “You never told me.”

“Taking you as my Padawan was controversial,” Obi-Wan says, quietly. “I threatened to leave the Order. Really the only reason they granted my request at all was because with Dooku only nominally a part of the Order anymore and Qui-Gon dead, I was the last remaining member of our lineage. Master Yoda has always been…partial to members of his own lineage and our branch more than most. But I burnt a lot of bridges in doing so and was not so subtly warned that if I stepped one toe out of line, you would pay the price. So, I became the perfect Jedi. And part of that meant not talking about my past, especially with you.”

“Oh, I just assumed you didn’t trust me,” Anakin says, awkwardly.

“And so you never trusted me in turn—with what really happened with your mother or your relationship with Padmé,” Obi-Wan concludes. Anakin wants to protest but…he can’t. Obi-Wan laughs, half hysterical, half miserable. “I failed you so badly that you felt you couldn’t come to me for help in your darkest hour.”

“Don’t, Obi-Wan. You weren’t the only one who failed here,” Padmé says, nudging at his hand with the toe of one of her boots. He continues clenching and unclenching his fingers in the dirt. She huffs. “As you pointed out, I knew about this for years and yet Anakin still didn’t trust me with the whole truth, my own husband. Not to mention that a misunderstanding goes both ways—please, let all of us, me, you, and Anakin share this blame equally.”

“I didn’t tell you so that you two would blame each other,” Anakin protests. He hunches a little and darts his eyes to the ground. “I did it because…I just. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve tried everything—but I’m still hurting you and I don’t want to, but I need…I need _help.”_

Padmé’s eyes are shining.

“You know that’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me, right?” she says. “You’ve never asked me for help before.”

“What, really? Never?” Anakin feels shocked. They’ve been married for nearly three years, surely at some point…?

“You’ve always been the one who’d rather let the house burn down rather than admit you needed a bucket of water,” Obi-Wan adds, quietly, his voice odd. Then he smiles, slow and hesitant, as if the very motion pains him. “So, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I’m…proud of you, in way. This conversation is nowhere near over. But still. It gives me hope that we can find some way to combat the growing Darkness within you.”

“I think…for the first time, I’m starting to believe that too,” Anakin admits.

There’s a moment of hushed silence, full of love, hope, and so much possibility.

Then.

“And now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” Obi-Wan says pleasantly, the same odd cast to his voice, “could we go back just a moment, because I could have sworn—forgive me, Senator—but did you say _husband?”_

There’s a beat of interminable silence, less blooming with hope and more like a ticking time bomb about to go off.

Padmé whirls on Anakin.

“You said you told him!” she says accusingly.

Anakin whirls on Obi-Wan.

“You said you knew!” Anakin lobs at him.

Obi-Wan looks insulted.

“I knew that you had feelings for her, that you were in love,” he says, incredulous. “That part was easy—but how was I possibly supposed to know that you married her? That’s—literally illegal. How did you even—when did you…?”

“Uh, after Geonosis,” Anakin admits. “When I was…ah, escorting her back to Naboo.”

“You’d known each other for less than a month!” Obi-Wan’s voice is getting kind of screechy. “Why the kriff would you risk marriage! What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned affair?”

“Oh, yes, dearest, please explain to Obi-Wan why we got married,” Padmé says, sickly sweet, and Anakin winces. He rubs at the back of his neck.

“You’re never going to let me live that one down,” he mutters. She arches an eyebrow and Obi-Wan looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. “So, uh…well, when you want to get married on Tatooine, when you’re a slave, it’s kinda simple. Um, you share some tea. And I didn’t really explain it right, so Padmé said she wanted to do that, but just thought it was like a courting thing. But, so. We wake up the next morning and uh, Threepio explained what it meant, properly. And she got steaming mad, even more mad when I suggested that it wasn’t a big deal, and uh…went into town the next day to hire a Nubian holy man.”

“Of all the reckless, idiotic…Padmé, really?”

“It’s insulting! To disrespect his traditions, his _mother’s_ traditions, like that,” she insists, same as she did at Varykino all those years ago. “I couldn’t let it be one-sided like that, like I love him any less than he loves me!”

“Kriffing hells—please tell me you at least used assumed names? And paid the holy man well for his silence?”

“Of course!”

“Well…” Padmé says. Anakin and Obi-Wan turn to her, alarmed.

“You told me he was your grandmother’s childhood friend!”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about Davoo, he wouldn’t breathe a word of it to anyone,” Padmé rushes to assure him. “It’s just…uh, the names we used were Set and Veré.”

Anakin blinks and Obi-Wan groans, burying his head in his hands.

“What am I missing?” Anakin demands.

“Set and Veré were star-crossed lovers of Nubian legend,” Obi-Wan mumbles, from between his palms. “A Queen who fell in love with an impoverished Knight. You may as well have put up a giant neon sign saying these are our aliases.”

“It’s romantic,” Padmé defends.

“It’s reckless stupidity is what it is!” Obi-Wan shoots back.

“You’re really not taking this well,” Anakin says, cocking his head. “Can I remind you of this next time you accuse me of being overdramatic?”

“Well, excuse me! Were you the one who just found out that your padawan has been hiding a marriage and a slow slide towards Darkness? And don’t forget the part where I’m doomed to watch all of my friends and family die in a massive genocide and then spend the rest of my life as a single father on the run from Sith Lords. I am entitled to one Siths-damned moment of hysteria for once in my life, thank you very much!”

Anakin pauses, eyes wide and holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Fair enough,” he admits. “But—”

“Can you hear that?” Padmé says, suddenly, sharply. Obi-Wan and Anakin both turn to her, confused. Anakin even opens his mouth to protest, after all there is little chance that anything would be able to sneak up on them, what with Anakin and Obi-Wan’s Force enhanced senses, and even if they did, Padmé certainly wouldn’t have been the one to hear it first. But then he notices the frown on Obi-Wan’s face and really pauses and listens and…

“Master, did we have a training exercise scheduled for today?” Anakin asks, slowly, as a Y-Wing skitters overhead, its engine making an unhappy whining noise. Obi-Wan only shakes his head in response as they all stare up at the wobbly fighter, gleefully bouncing along the horizon.

“Do your men normally fly like that?” Padmé asks, a poem of doubt written in the furrow between her brows and at the corner of her lips. 

“What!” Anakin bristles at the implied insult to the 501st. “No, of course not—”

The fighter swoops a little closer and Anakin is nearly bowled over by the sheer, unabashed glee stampeding through the Force.

He and Obi-Wan exchange wide-eyed looks of dread.

“Is that…?”

“Force, he got his piloting skills from Satine,” Obi-Wan groans for the umpteenth time, a unique type of despairing groan that usually only Anakin (and occasionally Ahsoka) is able to inspire in him. Anakin is not sure how to feel about Luke supplanting him as ‘Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Biggest Headache.’

“Why is there an _unsupervised child flying a literal multi-million credit death machine?”_

Anakin’s head snaps back up. Obi-Wan’s eyes are even more horrified now, a thousand calculations and what-ifs set off by Padmé’s blunt assessment of the situation.

Anakin shrugs—a little uneasy, but…

“I mean, I was flying pods when I was much younger than Luke,” he points out, in what he thinks is a very reasonable tone.

“You mean you were _crashing_ pods. The Boonta Eve was the first ever race you finished, remember?” Padmé says, severely. Obi-Wan startles, frowns.

“Wait, weren’t you some sort of pod-racing prodigy?”

“Oh, is that what he told you?” Padmé scoffs.

“Hey! I was—I am! But—I was nine and human and building my own pods—I was working at a little bit of a disadvantage.” Anakin is really starting to regret this newfound sense of kinship and camaraderie that his confession and the whole painful conversation afterwards seems to have built between the two of them. Alone, Padmé and Obi-Wan have always been merciless in their teasing—silver-tongued menaces who Anakin can never hope to outwit—but together…well, let’s just say the Republic should be really grateful it wasn’t Padmé and Obi-Wan leading the Separatists, otherwise Anakin would have been forced to surrender a long time ago.

“Qui-Gon…bet…our _entire_ future…the success of our mission. The freedom of Naboo. And our lives. On a kid who never even finished a race before?”

“Now you know how I felt!” Padmé says, shaking her head.

“In retrospect, your coolness towards Master Jinn is starting to make a lot more sense,” Obi-Wan replies, with a shake of his head. “I’ve always wondered why the flight to Coruscant was so awkward.”

“Standing right here,” Anakin mutters. Padmé pats at his cheek absently, comfortingly. He searches for something, desperate to change the subject. “But regardless, Luke can’t be up there totally unsupervised. I’m sure Fives or Jesse is with him. They know better than to—” Both Obi-Wan and Padmé give him a look and he wilts. “Yeah, okay, they’d totally do that. Let’s get back to camp and get him back on solid ground as soon as possible.”

“Excellent plan,” Obi-Wan says as the three of them leg it back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always love your kudos! and comments/criticisms!  
> wasn't totally satisfied with this chapter (rewrote it six or seven times, hence the delay) so would appreciate any feedback!
> 
> EDIT 12/14: hey y'all, didn't think I needed to do this, because I thought the conversation between Padmé and Obi-Wan was pretty clear, but the comments I've been flooded with would suggest otherwise. What Anakin did and Padmé's justifications for it are ~wrong~. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. However, I will not have either Obi-Wan or Padmé turning Anakin in for his crimes for two reasons: 1. while it probably would be very interesting to read a fic where Anakin is actually held accountable by a court of law, this is...not that fic. It'd be hella depressing to write, tbh. But if you want to see that, I encourage you to write it! 2. as I tried to make clear in this conversation, what Padmé and Obi-Wan are doing here is NOT right but it is understandable--history and psychology show that when confronted with something that is morally wrong, humans tend to condemn it in strangers but justify/find excuses if it is their loved ones doing the very bad thing. And if you are someone who would turn in your husband/best friend in a similar situation--more power to you, the world absolutely needs more people like you willing to do the right thing. But from watching the Clone Wars, it is clear to me that Obi-Wan and Padmé do not fall into that camp and so I feel that it is reasonable to proceed with this story as I originally had planned. If you do not like it, I would suggest that you stop reading, or at the very least, please stop spamming me with comments.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoever said that holidays are relaxing was a gosh darned liar.
> 
> but regardless this chapter is finally finished and I'm actually somewhat happy with the result. feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments below--a special shoutout to my repeat commenters who keep my spirits buoyed with their lovely thoughts, rants, and heart emojis!

Luckily for everyone involved, Cody has managed to grab control of the situation before they even make it back to the outskirts of camp.

Or rather, luckily for almost everyone.

Luke seems greatly disappointed, pouting mightily as both Kix and Bones check him over for injuries (Anakin’s not sure why Cody thought two medics were necessary) and Fives and Jesse are positively radiating terror into the Force as Cody _glares_ at them. Anakin can just catch the tail end of his verbal lashing as they hurry towards the tableaux.

“—endangering a youngling’s life. What were you thinking? Were you thinking?” Cody snarls. Fives opens his mouth. “That was a rhetorical question, trooper, be _quiet.”_

Fives and Jesse seem to shrivel further in onto themselves.

“Aww, Uncle Cody,” Luke whines, shaking off the attention of the medics as he hops over and tugs at Cody’s fingers, “don’t blame Fives and Jesse—it was my idea.”

“Still, they should have known better,” Cody says, firmly.

“They said no at first! I wanted to go up alone—but then I pointed out that we could all squeeze in and I could sit in their laps so they could help me!”

Obi-Wan disguises his laugh as a cough. Cody only glances over briefly before reestablishing his narrow-eyed evaluation of Luke. Luke arranges his face in a beatific, beaming smile.

“I’m really sorry, Uncle Cody,” Luke says, voice turned wheedling. “Really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I just wanted to practice and Jesse told me we should wait for you or Rex or Ben, but I was so excited to see the Y-Wings—I’ve never seen them so shiny!”

He blinks his eyes, blue orbs turning impossibly wider and bluer and shinier on the next blink. Cody fights valiantly for one second, then two before his stern demeanor reluctantly melts. Fives and Jesse audibly sigh in relief.

“Okay, fine,” Cody says, pursing his lips. Luke’s eyes light up and Cody holds up a hand. “But from now on, you stay with the 212th. Clearly, the 501st can’t be trusted with you.”

“Hey!” Anakin protests. Fives and Jesse’s eyes widen and behind Cody’s back they shake their heads minutely, but frantically. Cody opens his mouth and Obi-Wan hastily interjects.

“I think you’ve made your point, Commander,” he says. Fives and Jesse nod vigorously. “Fives, Jesse, dismissed.”

As one the two troopers snap out a smart salute to Obi-Wan and begin to move away quickly. But Fives can’t resist throwing a cheeky smile and wink back towards Luke and the vein on the side of Cody’s head pulses.

“But not before reporting to your Captain,” he snaps out. “You are to tell Captain Rex about this incident and submit to any punishment he deems acceptable. And I will _know_ if you leave anything out.”

“Yes sir!” Jesse stutters out as the two clones finally manage to stumble away. Anakin watches them go with a bemused look—sometimes he swears his men are more afraid of Cody than they are of him or even Obi-Wan for that matter.

“Now, Commander, was that truly necessary?” Obi-Wan asks, sounding amused. Cody frowns fiercely.

“I don’t know why I thought you’d be more bothered by your son’s casual disregard for his own safety,” he mutters. “I guess I forgot who I was dealing with.”

“To be entirely fair, earlier, he was very concerned,” Padmé adds. Obi-Wan nods and gives a carefully innocent smile, one that looks _suspiciously_ like the one Luke had used on Cody not even minutes earlier.

“But once I saw that you had the situation well in hand, I saw no reason to interfere,” Obi-Wan explains. Cody furrows his brow fiercely. 

“Luke,” he says, still glaring at Obi-Wan, “how would you like some armor?”

Luke’s eyes go round. Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow.

“Ben says armor is uncivilized,” he says, uncertainly. Obi-Wan nods approvingly.

“He would say that,” Cody snorts. He slaps a hand against one pauldron. “But doesn’t this look so cool? Don’t you want some of your own?”

Luke pauses and glances towards Obi-Wan. He begins nods, hesitantly at first, but then more and more eagerly as the seconds pass.

“Good,” Cody replies, with a sharp dip of his chin. “We’ll get you some paint.”

“Paint?”

“Of course, every shiny must paint their armor—otherwise it’s just a bucket.”

“But—but I wouldn’t even know where to begin!”

“Hmm, you’ll figure it out,” Cody says, fondly. He bends down and taps at Luke’s chest. “It’s in here, somewhere.”

Luke nods solemnly.

“And you’ll help me?”

“Of course, brother. Now, I want you to go find Clang—just ask one of the clones in yellow, they’ll help you find the armory. Once you have your haul, bring it back to the command tent, where we were last night, and I will help you as best I can.”

Luke nods eagerly and dashes off before Cody can even finish his sentence. Cody jerks his head and two clones suddenly dart out of the shadows, following Luke a safe distance away—unnoticed, but not so far as to be useless in case of emergency.

Cody climbs to his feet and turns to fully face Anakin, Padmé, and Obi-Wan.

He glances around.

“What?” he mutters defensively. “We have to keep him busy somehow—look what happened last time.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes are suspiciously wet.

Padmé clears her throat and gives a light, tinkling laugh, masterfully pulling everyone’s attention away from Obi-Wan’s display of emotion.

“Oh, Ani,” she says, “you may have competition for favorite Uncle.”

“Hey!”

She pats consolingly at her husband’s arm.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure _I’m_ still in the lead for favorite Aunt,” she laughs.

“Quite right,” Obi-Wan replies, sounding more like his usual self, but still a little choked up. “Quite right.”

Cody evaluates them, eyes roving rapidly across the puffy red rim underneath Padmé’s eyes, the downturn at the corner of Obi-Wan’s lips, and the ashen gray color of Anakin’s normal tan.

“Are you three done?” he asks, carefully shaping the words.

“For now,” Obi-Wan responds, deliberately light. Cody pauses, nods.

“Okay then. Shall we then?” Cody says gruffly. “I assumed that returning Luke should be our first priority, sir, so I’ve taken the liberty of clearing our schedules for the day—I had the Senator’s droid tell the Seps we needed more time to attend to our wounded—and prepared a bit of light reading on the subject matter.”

“What ever would I do without you, Cody?” Obi-Wan murmurs.

“Wander around hopeless and robeless,” Cody quips back. Anakin tips his head back and laughs.

“We should totally ask Luke if that’s still a thing.”

“I think we have much bigger priorities,” Obi-Wan sniffs.

“Nope,” Anakin says, loudly popping the ‘p’ and gracing his Master with a shit-eating grin. “no, we definitely do not.”

“It may help us establish the critical divergence between his universe and ours,” Cody adds, deadpan. Obi-Wan buries his hands in his sleeves—which he only ever does when he actually wants to throw his hands up in the air or wrap them around Anakin’s throat.

As they walk away, Anakin can’t resist leaning over to Cody and whispering in a not-so-whispery-voice.

“Okay, but seriously. I’ve got a light sword _and_ I can build droids from scratch _and_ I can teach him how to fly. I’m totally the favorite uncle.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” Cody says, blandly.

***

Anakin groans and buries his head in his arms.

“I’m done,” he declares. Neither Padmé nor Obi-Wan look up from their own datapads. Cody spares him a brief glance, but Anakin thinks he is just reaching for his caf and Anakin just happens to be in his eyeline. He glances over to Rex, who had begged off hours earlier to supervise Luke—nominally Artoo’s job, but, as Rex put it “Artooey’s just as like to join him in eating paint as preventing him.” Artoo had beeped angrily at that, but everyone else had glanced at the giant yellow mess that Luke was making of his mini-armor, face, and Artoo and agreed all too readily with Rex’s assessment of the situation. He’s now sitting just a little ways away, Luke in his lap as he shows the boy how to properly clip his own, rather violently yellow shin guards onto his legs.

Unfortunately for Anakin, Rex seems to be ignoring his whining as well.

“Oh my, Master Ani. Is there anything I can do to help?” Threepio agonize, shuffling over. Anakin twists his neck and smiles.

“Thanks, Threepio,” he says, really meaning it. “But unless you’ve found an answer to how we’re going to get Luke home in all this mess, then I don’t think there’s much you can do.”

Padmé sighs and finally lowers her pad. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” she sighs, “he does have a point. We’ve been at this for hours.”

Luke glances up at her tone and looks in between the adults, a small, concerned moue to his mouth. Rex taps at his shoulder and tries to pull his attention back to the armor, but it’s in vain. Luke stands to his feet, using Artoo as a support.

“We just need to keep looking,” Obi-Wan insists, stubbornly. “The answer must be here somewhere.”

“No, I don’t think it is,” Padmé argues. “There are plenty of written accounts of these incidents, but every single one is the same—a few details shifted here or there, but it’s all the same. And none of these accounts talk about how the travelers got home—these writers are much more concerned with talking about what they learned from the travelers about potential futures.”

“Oh don’t forget the guy whose mind was absolutely blown by the fact that pallies are yellow in another universe. So blown away he went on for 12 pages about it,” Anakin mutters.

“Well, what else would you suggest?” Obi-Wan asks, voice even. “Do you have some other solution?” There’s a long moment of silence. Obi-Wan sighs and raises his pad once more. “That’s what I—”

A screechy beep cuts him off, Artoo wobbling back and forth angrily under Luke’s pudgy hand. Everyone in the tent whirls.

“Well, that’s a terrible idea, Artoo! I never,” Threepio gasps, as affronted as Anakin’s ever heard him. Anakin cocks his head and shrugs.

“Dunno. It’s not great, I’ll give you that, but it’s probably better than sitting here, reading for the next eternity,” Anakin says thoughtfully.

Cody clears his throat.

“And for those of us who don’t speak binary, that idea was…” he begins, in a leading tone of voice.

“I would not even want to insult anyone by having to repeat such nonsense,” Threepio insists. Anakin rolls his eyes.

“You just don’t want to tell them because you know none of us speak Sullustan,” he teases. “You’d have to translate everything. You’re _afraid.”_

“I—Master Ani! I have never been so insulted in my life—by my own Maker, too!”

Artoo beeps aggressively, main light flashing blue and red.

“You two, stop bullying my droid,” Padmé interjects finally. She sounds genuinely upset and Anakin knows he’s gone a little too far—he throws up his hands immediately in surrender and gives her his best wide-eyed apologetic look. Obi-Wan glances between them, seeming a little shocked.

“You must teach me how to do that,” he murmurs. “Thirteen years and I’ve never seen him give in so quickly.”

“You didn’t see what she did to Senator Organa’s aide,” Anakin says, defensively. “He called Threepio fussy one time. Just one time and she _destroyed_ that man’s career. And his marriage.”

“I don’t care what anybody says, Threepio’s got a good heart!” Padmé responds, hotly. She pauses, then darts her eyes over to Obi-Wan and looks down again. “And he has some lovely stories about your mother. She taught him to make _tzai._ So, he’s part of the family, in a way. Technically. _”_

Cody and Rex share a look.

“Are we now officially talking about the marriage we’re not supposed to know about?” Cody asks, sounding relieved and amused in equal measure.

“You knew they were married?” Obi-Wan asks, betrayed. Cody raises an eyebrow and gestures to Rex, who is rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

“For some reason, Skywalker thought it was a good idea to rely on the only person in the GAR who is a worse liar than he is to help keep his secret,” Cody says dryly.

Artoo gives a warbly, laughing beep-boop. Then, a questioning, pushy sort of follow up—just to make sure no one’s forgotten his original suggestion.

“I think that’s a great idea, Artooey,” Luke says, suddenly. He pats at Artoo’s dome. “What’s everyone so worked up about?”

“You speak binary?” Obi-Wan asks, startled. Luke tilts his head.

“Yeah, duh,” Luke replies, with a childish giggle. “Fulcrum taught me. She said she’d take the loyalty of a single good droid over a whole squadron any day, and just because you were a stubborn old bastard about the whole thing didn’t mean I needed to be too.”

“Luke!” Anakin scolds, frowning fiercely. Luke’s eyes widen and his hand flies up to cover his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, voice muffled, “I’m not supposed to repeat that.”

“And what do you say to Ben?”

“Um…sorry, Ben? I didn’t mean to call you the bad word,” Luke offers hesitantly. He looks to Anakin for approval and he nods. However, much to Anakin’s displeasure, everyone else, even Obi-Wan, just looks amused. Obi-Wan’s son! Swearing! He feels like they should all be much more concerned about this than they actually are.

“Hmm, very well, thank you—and so what does Artoo suggest?” Obi-Wan prompts. His lips twist in a wry expression. “I feel as if I have been waiting an age for this plan to be revealed—I should hope it is worth the wait.”

“Oh!” Luke gasps. “Yeah! Artoo just suggested we go talk to the locals—they’ve been living beside this Temple for hundreds of years, right? So even if nothing in written down in _our_ records, they’ve probably got some stories they could share.”

“That’s…” Cody pauses, hums, “not actually a bad idea. Apart from the fact…”

“…that we literally just waged a massive battle with them and probably made a lot of enemies in the process? Yeah, not to mention we can’t understand a damn word they’re saying,” Rex finishes.

“If only we had two very experienced, diplomatic negotiators known for getting their way no matter what and a wonderful translator fluent in over six million forms of communication,” Anakin adds, in a sing-song voice.

Everyone turns to look at Padmé, Obi-Wan, and C-3PO.

“Oh dear,” Threepio frets, his torso servos whirling as he tilts side to side worriedly. “If I am shot to pieces by uncivilized Separatists, it is all your fault, Artoo. _All_ your fault.”

***

Hours later, long after Luke has gone to bed, Cody looks up blearily from his data pad and gives a pointed cough. Internally, Anakin feels as if he could skip for joy. He was ready to head to bed hours ago—he doesn’t really see the point of planning out every pause for breath and tonal inflection like this—but he knows that he alone is not strong enough to convince Obi-Wan and Padmé to stop. But now, with Cody on the job, Anakin knows there’s a good chance of sleep in his near future.

When neither Obi-Wan nor Padmé immediately respond, the clone commander gives a second, much louder cough.

“Sir?” he prompts, running his eyes over the drooping shoulders of his General. “It’ll be much harder to think straight after a sleepless night. The best thing we can do—for the Republic, for Luke—is get some rest.”

“Is it that the time,” Obi-Wan murmurs, looking up and cracking his neck. He glances around the tent, looking slightly bewildered. He blinks at Padmé, then glances at Anakin. “Oh good, I no longer have to pretend like I can’t hear you sneaking into her quarters!” 

Anakin shoots him a narrow-eyed look.

“You couldn’t really hear us,” he protests.

“Mmm,” Obi-Wan says, with a mysterious smile. Padmé sniffs, rising to her feet and keeping her chin raised imperiously in the air as she holds out her hand to her husband and leads them both out of the tent.

“Remember to say goodnight to Luke before you go to bed! He said you can just wake him up, no matter how late,” Anakin throws over his shoulder. He whips back around and leans towards Rex, who is also exiting the tent, and switches to an urgent whisper. “He couldn’t hear us. Right?”

Rex just looks at him pityingly as Padmé leads them both away. She gives him an exasperated look as they duck into her own set of diplomatic quarters—cleaner and a little larger than the ones surrounding it—but otherwise nearly indistinguishable from the dozens of tents surrounding it.

“Why did you tell Rex?” she asks, as she turns around and bares her neck in a silent request for Anakin to help unbuttoning her gown. Only a couple of years ago, all of Padmé’s wardrobe had been a complete and total world mystery to Anakin, but he now unhooks the buttons with practiced ease. He’s just grateful that her traveling ensembles usually don’t involve wigs—those were the worst and he could never get them off without snagging at least one lock in his mechnofingers. “And before you told Obi-Wan, too!”

“I needed help distracting Ahsoka!” Anakin says defensively as he shrugs off his tabards. Padmé turns around and muffles a laugh in his chest. “What?”

“Oh, honey,” Padmé says. “Ahsoka _definitely_ knew.”

“What? No, she didn’t—”

“You had me give her fashion advice. Because you thought her tube top was scandalous but didn’t want to undermine her “feminine power” if that’s what she really wanted to wear.”

“I didn’t say scandalous—I was trying not to contribute to the insidious male gaze.”

“And I appreciated it—it’s always good to know you actually do listen to my rants,” Padmé says fondly, as she pokes at Anakin’s chest. He allows himself to fall back into the bunk and arrange himself as a pillow for his wife. She lays her head on his chest and snuggles in. “I know she did as well. But I took her shopping and paid for one of the most influential, up-and-coming Nubian designers to hand tailor three new outfits for her. As much as I love Ahsoka, that’s not something you do for your friend’s apprentice. It’s more like something I would do for Ryoo or Pooja or…or a daughter.”

Anakin glances at her sharply.

“She was my apprentice,” he sputters, “she never thought of me like a—it’s not the same, you know.”

Padmé cranes her neck so that she can frown at him.

“But I’ve seen you share _tzai_ with them,” she says. Anakin flushes and her eyes widen in understanding. “Ani, you didn’t! Please tell me you’ve explained to them what sharing tea means to you!”

“Jedi forbid attachment!” Anakin protests. He sighs and stares up at the tent’s canvas ceiling. “It was an accident, really. Obi-Wan was just…struggling after Naboo. He liked tea, but couldn’t stand to drink anything Master Qui-Gon left behind. I didn’t really know what else to do, but I had some _tzai_ Mom gave me before I left and it seemed to help. I explained what it meant, I did, but…I don’t think I did it right, or that he ever really understood what it meant. And by the time I was finally learning about the Code and all the rules, I realized he definitely didn’t understand what it meant, but I didn’t know how to explain it any better.”

“ _Ani!_ ”

Anakin throws his mech-arm, the one not trapped under Padmé’s body, over his eyes. 

“I know, I know,” he groans. “I don’t know how to explain something that was never really explained to me—everyone just sorta knows how it is on Tatooine. And it’s a secret tea, okay? You don’t go around just explaining all of that…weight to people!”

“You explained it to me,” Padmé counters. “I thought you did a…okay, so it wasn’t a great job, but I got the idea.”

“That’s different,” Anakin sighs. “You’re…you. And we’re us. And you just don’t understand how different it is—I know lineages look like families to outsiders, but they’re really, really not—and the Council discourages any sign of attachment between Masters and Padawans. I got enough flak for “my undue displays of affection” with Ahsoka as it was.”

“Mmm, if they’re discouraging it, they’re doing a pretty bad job of it,” Padmé observes. “I’ve seen the three of you together—you and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. That day when Ahsoka got her bead for…whatever that was? I’ve never seen Obi-Wan so proud, except when he talks about you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s real proud of me,” Anakin mutters. “Especially now that he knows about the whole slaughtering a bunch of unarmed sentients bit.”

“But he stayed. And offered to help,” Padmé points out. “If that’s not attachment, I don’t know what is, blood or no blood. And earlier today, you called yourself Luke’s uncle—I know you were joking, but does that make it any less true? And if Luke’s our family, a boy we’ve hardly known for two days, then surely Ahsoka and Obi-Wan must be as well.”

“I—” Anakin pauses and huffs out a breath. “I should have known better than to argue with a Senator.”

“Mmm, yes you should have, but here we are,” she jokes right back. She sobers, then hesitates. “I suppose I never pointed it out because I assumed you knew, but you do know how important you are to Ahsoka, right?”

“I—” Anakin’s throat closes up. “Maybe, before. But then, with the trial and how I failed her—”

“Failed her? How can you even say that, Anakin? You stood behind her when no one else would, fought for her freedom and her good name, and ultimately cleared her.”

“But she left!” Anakin bursts out. “It didn’t matter, she left anyways! I wasn’t enough.”

“I think that had more to do with Ahsoka than it did with you—she’s a teenage girl trying to find her place in the Galaxy. It’s natural to want to do that alone.” 

“I could have helped her though! We both could have us.”

Padmé regards him for a moment, then twists one of his unruly curls around her finger, almost absentmindedly.

“Once,” she begins, thoughtfully, “when I was still in office, I got in a fight with Sola. I forget about what exactly, but I wanted to help her with something and she just…exploded. Later, when we got it all sorted out, she told me that sometimes she needed me to just keep my distance. “You suck up all the oxygen in the room, Pads,” she told me. We’re both like that, I think, and sometimes the Solas and Ahsokas of our lives just need some space, to figure out how to _exist_ without us there. I don’t think it means they love us any less.” 

Anakin is silent for several, thumping heartbeats.

“But I’m worried about her,” he says, finally. “How am I supposed to stop worrying about her?”

“Well,” Padmé says slowly, after a long pause. “Keeping our distance doesn’t mean we can’t help, I should think. I know she said she’d reach out if she needed help, but there’s no reason we can’t precipitate that. It wouldn’t be hovering. Not really. Just…checking in. Monitoring.”

“I—I didn’t think about that,” Anakin says, blinking.

“I’m not saying she has to come live with us or anything,” Padmé clarifies, “but monthly com calls and an allowance of some sort wouldn’t be amiss, I think. Just to make sure she isn’t sleeping on the streets.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Anakin says, glumly. “Unfortunately, I have no idea where to even begin. I don’t even know if she managed to scrape up enough money for a new com.”

“How fortunate for you then that your wife is a seasoned politician with her own elite spy force,” Padmé opines. “I’m sure Sabé can track her down. She’s never failed me before.”

“You’d do that? For me?”

“Okay, first of all, let’s be clear, Ahsoka is my family too, and I’m almost as worried about her as you are, so this is as much for my peace of mind as yours,” Padmé clarifies. “But also, yes, if you think it will help. This clearly has been tearing you up, which is just ridiculous, when there’s such an obvious solution within my grasp.”

Anakin tucks his chin down to his chest and stares at Padmé, a warm smile spreading across his face, stretching muscles he hasn’t used in, oh, ages.

“I love you so much.”

“I know,” Padmé responds dryly. Anakin laughs and pushes at her shoulder with his nose, tickling her. Padmé giggles. “I love you too, you nerfherder.”

“How romantic.”

“Eh, we both know you’re the one in charge of the grand romantic gestures,” Padmé replies, with a deliberately casual shrug. She closes her eyes, settles back into the mattress and Anakin’s arms, and grins. “Delegation, Ani, look it up.”


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning Obi-Wan barges in, bringing the first rays of dawn with him.

“Time for morning meditation!” he declares brightly as Anakin yelps and falls out of bed, driven by an instinctive reaction to scramble away and hide the truth of his relationship with Padmé. He hits his head against one of the tent posts on the way down and lies on the cold ground, groaning as Obi-Wan blinks down at him.

Padmé sits up, clutching the thin sheet to her chest.

“Could you…could you not have waited ten minutes?” she gasps angrily, hair all askew in a way it rarely ever is.

“Hmm…I could have,” Obi-Wan admits, stroking his auburn and gray beard thoughtfully. “But I must say, I haven’t quite gotten over the whole secret marriage thing and I get a wonderful sort of thrill out of inconveniencing you like this. Not very Jedi-like, I know, but I figured I must take my joys where I can these days.”

Anakin glares at him balefully.

“Thanks a lot, Master,” he grumbles, pushing himself up and shrugging on a tunic. “Now please tell me that the Separatists are launching a surprise attack, because I honestly can’t think of any other reason for you to wake me up so rudely at such a Siths-damned hour.”

“Language,” Obi-Wan says mildly, fussing primly with the edges of his sleeves. “And I told you, it’s time for morning meditation.”

Anakin blinks at him.

“That’s what I thought you said, but I figured there was no way you’d…wait, you’re serious? Master, come on, you know I hate meditation— _especially_ in the mornings.”

“And a week ago I would have accepted that excuse and moved on,” Obi-Wan replies calmly, “but like it or not, successful and regular meditation sessions will be necessary to learning how to control yourself and your outbursts.”

Anakin freezes.

“I—I…” he sputters and Obi-Wan’s visage softens.

“I promised to help you, Anakin,” he says. “I have no intention of reneging on my word, but I understand that traditional meditation can be…limiting for you. So, we shall have to try out different variations until we find one that works. And if we’re going to try out hundreds of meditation styles we might as well start sooner rather than later.”

“Er…” Anakin glances over to Padmé. She’s sitting up a little bit more naturally, her death-grip on the sheet little bit more relaxed. She inclines her head.

“Go ahead,” she says, softly. “I’ll probably need a few hours to get ready anyways.”

Luke pops his head into the tent.

Anakin very determinedly does _not_ shriek.

“Can I help?” he asks excitedly.

“Have you been here the whole time?” Anakin demands. Luke shrugs.

“Sure. Ben didn’t want me coming in because he was worried you might be having adult time, but once I didn’t hear any screaming, I figured it was safe to eavesdrop,” he informs them cheerfully.

“Adult time…?” Obi-Wan repeats faintly. “What _has_ my older self been teaching you?”

“Of course, Luke, I’d love that,” Padmé interjects, hastily steering the conversation back into safer territory. “There’s lots of buttons and folds that your little hands will be very helpful at reaching.”

“Yay!” Luke bounces on the balls of his feet. “What’s the first step?”

“Hmm—We’ll have to go through my closet back on the ship.”

Luke’s eyes go wide.

“A _whole_ closet?” he breathes. “Do you have velvet?”

“Of course,” Padmé laughs. “And satins and silks, mostly. Some linens, wools, and furs as well, though those are less fashionable on my home planet.”

“Oh, wizard! Do you know what you’re wearing yet?”

“Well, there’s a couple of options,” Padmé says, tapping at her chin with an indulgent smile. Anakin knows she’s lying. Dormé and Padmé spend at least a half day at the start of every standard week planning out all of Padmé’s outfits for the week ahead. The Naboo place a lot of weight on the subtle, non-verbal language of fashion and no politician of Padmé’s standing could afford to send the wrong message by wearing maroon on the second day of the third month…or something like that anyways. But Luke seems thrilled at the possibility and Anakin knows that Padmé will deftly steer Luke away from any truly…outrageous fashion choices.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Luke says, impatiently, darting forward and clamping on to Padmé’s so that he can drag her out of the tent. Anakin manages to toss her an extra shawl to throw over her thin sleeping attire and she shoots him a grateful look as the canvas flap hits her in the face on her way out.

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan says, watching the two of them leave with a furrow between his brows. “I didn’t mean to make her mind Luke—I was going to drop him off with Waxer and Boil.”

“Nah,” Anakin says, waving a hand, “I’m sure she’s thrilled—she loves being an aunt, you know? Ryoo and Pooja get spoiled rotten anytime we’re back on Naboo.”

“Hmm—is that what all those bodyguard assignments to Naboo during high holidays are about?”

“Uh…if I say yes, will you stop assigning them to me?” Anakin replies sheepishly.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan groans. Anakin scrambles up and snatches up his tabards and lightsaber.

“C’mon let’s go somewhere quieter—I need no help distracting myself during meditation,” Anakin says brightly. Obi-Wan gives him a look, making it clear that he knows exactly what Anakin is trying to do, but will permit him to get away with it, at least for now.

A few clicks later, they enter Obi-Wan’s tent and Anakin has the opportunity to swish some ice-cold water, to get rid of the nasty feeling on the roof of his mouth. As Anakin bustles around, fiddling and fixing his robes properly, splashing water on his face, and scrubbing at his unkempt curls as best he can—literally any task he can think of to further delay the prospect of meditation—Obi-Wan settles down into his customary pose and begins flicking through a data pad intently. Anakin watches him surreptitiously out of the corner of one eye, unable to suppress his curiosity. Occasionally Obi-Wan will pause, frown, and consult a small holocron in his hand, muttering softly to himself as his traces a finger across the pad.

Finally, Anakin’s curiosity overcomes his wariness.

“What’re you doing?” he asks. Obi-Wan looks up, arches an eyebrow and gestures for Anakin to sit. It’s only as he does so, unconsciously imitating his Master’s pose, that he realizes that this was probably Obi-Wan’s aim all along—to draw Anakin closer by stoking his curiosity, like a feral tooka cat.

Obi-Wan glances up momentarily.

“Investigating alternative meditation strategies—I think we’ll start with _ruutanga._ It originated on a desert planet in the Expansion region and I’m hoping the parallels to Tatooine may help ground you.”

Anakin raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t exactly have fond memories of Tatooine,” he points out.

“Hmm, yes, I’m aware. But like it or not, it was a part of your formative years, something that set your entire frame of reference. You always did struggle with the water metaphors we traditionally used to teach mediation in the Creche, so I was hoping the guiding allegory of a desert may be easier to grasp.”

“Oh,” Anakin says and it’s…unbearably kind when Obi-Wan explains his reasoning like that, to think that he has poured this much thought and effort to helping Anakin or that he noticed the way Master Yaddle’s ramblings about fountains and oceans and rivers had always left Anakin’s head spinning. The Jedi liked to say that meditation was akin to diving into an infinite ocean, but Anakin knew bodies of water to be anything but infinite—Tatooine had once, long ago been a planet wide ocean, people liked to say, and look how _that_ turned out— so it had never really clicked for him.

Obi-Wan allows him a moment, then clears his throat pointedly, assuming an…odd position with his hands clasping the opposite wrist and close to his center, as opposed to the open-palms laid over his knees that Obi-Wan and most of the other Jedi usually preferred.

“Well? Are we ready to begin?” he asks. Anakin nods hesitantly and awkwardly copies Obi-Wan’s pose.

“In _ruutanga,_ it is less about opening yourself to the Force and more about delving inward,” Obi-Wan explains, at Anakin’s quizzical look. He closes his eyes and Anakin follows his lead. “To its adherents, the Force is a raging sandstorm, one that must be carefully guarded against, lest we become overwhelm. We shall start by shutting ourselves out entirely from the Force.”

“But that’s the exact opposite of what you’ve always told me to do!” Anakin complains, eyes flying open.

“Yes, well. That’s the point, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, his lips quirking upwards as his eyes remain closed. “This technique is actually reverse of the traditional Temple Jedi method. Rather than start by opening ourselves fully to the Force and then slowly letting go of each thought and connection one by one, we shall move in the opposite direction. We shall shut out the Force entirely and reestablish our connection slowly, only allowing in one thread—or as _ruutanga_ calls it, one grain of sand—at a time. This will allow us time to examine each grain and set it in its proper place, so we don’t become overwhelmed.”

“That…actually sounds a lot more reasonable,” Anakin admits.

“Hmm, I thought so,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Based on what you’ve told me on how you experience the Force. Now, enough chatter. Focus, my young padawan.”

“Not your padawan anymore,” Anakin grumbles, with little heat.

“We are all padawans of the Force,” Obi-Wan replies serenely. “Our journey to knowledge never ends, you know. Which is why we meditate. Come, Anakin.”

The next hour is…not nearly as bad as Anakin first feared.

Yeah, meditation still sucks, no surprise there. But it’s not nearly as hard as it normally is to calm his mind and find his center—the extra shielding in the beginning gives him a moment to catch his breath, which makes the rest of it slightly more bearable. It helps too that Obi-Wan is clearly struggling to master _ruutanga_ as well, so Anakin feels less like a naughty Padawan, pulled out of saber training for remedial tutoring, and more like Obi-Wan’s equal, floundering around blindly together. Slowly, ever so slowly, they allow small bits of the Force into their shared consciousness, turning over the thoughts and feelings that these little sparks of the Force inspire.

Finally, they come to the biggest snarl pounding at Anakin’s shields—Luke and all the rage and confusion, helplessness and terror that the knowledge of his future inspires.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan hums. “I was wondering when we were going to get to that. It is perfectly understandable to be terrified, you know. For all that Master Yoda likes to lecture about ‘luminous beings,’ being confronted with your own mortality is a terrible prospect for any Jedi.”

“But that’s not…” Anakin feels his brow furrow in frustration, and he lets out a sigh. It’s going to come out soon, anyways, so might as well be honest. “That’s not what I’m really afraid of though, is it?”

Obi-Wan’s scrutiny brushes against Anakin in the Force, kind but unrelenting as he peels back the layers of Anakin.

“No, it isn’t,” Obi-Wan agrees after a moment of contemplation. “Do you know what is?”

“I’m afraid that I won’t be able save you—not you _you_ , but Luke’s version of you, his father.”

“Why though? That is not your responsibility.”

“What? We can’t just _not_ help him! He’s you!”

“You must learn to let go,” Obi-Wan admonishes, shaking his head. “We cannot save everyone in the Galaxy, let alone everyone in an alternate universe as well.”

Anakin bites his lip and looks away.

“But…” he hesitates, then clamps his mouth shut. Obi-Wan turns to him quizzically and waits, patiently. Anakin swallows. “It’s just…I understand your reasoning, but I feel like I need to help them, you know? Because I failed. Or the other me, at any rate.”

Obi-Wan looks up sharply, eyes flying open.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he demands.

“Some Chosen One I was, huh? Seems like I failed and the whole Galaxy paid the price,” Anakin shrugs, awkwardly, giving Obi-Wan a half-hearted smile.

“That is not your burden to bear,” Obi-Wan replies firmly, reaching out to lay a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “It never has been, no matter what Master Qui-Gon believed.”

“How can you say that? It’s why the Council agreed to even allow me in the Temple in the first place. And it’s the only reason you ever petitioned to me to be trained and why you volunteered for the job, even though you definitely never wanted to. Because it was your _duty_ to train the Chosen One.”

Obi-Wan turns pale, the edges of his lips flattening and turning a stark white color.

“Is that truly what you believe?” he asks. Anakin resists the urge to shrink back—he won’t apologize for finally speaking up and exposing the truth they’ve both been tactfully been ignoring for over a decade. “How long—I don’t. How did you even come to such a conclusion?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Anakin says, not willing to admit that it hadn’t really been obvious to him, not at first, not until Chancellor Palpatine had gently pointed out the truth to him.

“Obvious?” Obi-Wan barks out an incredulous laugh. He pauses, shakes his head. “Anakin, would you say you trained Ahsoka out of a sense of duty and obligation?”

“What? No! Of course not, what kind of ridiculous—”

“But she came to you under less than ideal circumstances, at the request of another Master and despite your…vehement protestations.”

“Yeah, maybe at first, but she’s _Ahsoka,”_ Anakin replies with a helpless wave of his hand, meant to encompass everything Ahsoka was and is to him. Obi-Wan waits for a beat, then two, then raises his eyebrow meaningfully. “Oh. I—I never thought of it like that.”

“While at times I regret the manner in which I took you on as my padawan,” Obi-Wan says slowly, “that has everything to do with Qui-Gon being an old fool and nothing to do with you. Teaching you has been one of the greatest joys of my life.”

Anakin gapes.

“I…what?”

“And I always assumed you knew because...well, everyone else knows. All the other Masters tease me mercilessly about it. That’s why I’m just so taken aback—who put this ridiculous idea in your head?”

There’s a long awkward pause and Anakin doesn’t know what to do—he knows the Chancellor must have just been confused, but Obi-Wan already dislikes the man and Anakin doesn’t want to contribute anymore to Obi-Wan’s unreasonable bias.

“Um. Well, I must have just heard it. Around the Senate. I mean.”

“The Chancellor told you I viewed training you as a duty?”

“What? No! I didn’t say it was the Chancellor!”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says exasperatedly, “you talk to exactly two politicians and I know that Padmé would never say such things. So that leaves the Chancellor—though I’m fascinated to know why he feels he is qualified to comment given that I have never in my life had a single personal conversation with the man.”

“I’m sure he just misheard some gossip,” Anakin responds defensively. “He’s always looking out for me and relays anything he hears.”

“How is sharing nasty rumors about your former Master in any way looking out for you?” Obi-Wan asks, incredulously. Anakin opens his mouth, then pauses.

“I don’t know, actually,” he says, with a frown. Obi-Wan regards him silently for a moment.

“Do you and the Chancellor talk about the prophecy as well?” he asks, finally, in a carefully neutral tone. Anakin bites his lip and nods. Obi-Wan sighs. “I do hope you recgnize how absolutely hypocritical that makes the man—to accuse me of being overly concerned with your supposed status as the Chosen One while also demonstrating a clear interest in the prophecy himself. I would…encourage you to examine his motivations a little more closely, when you have the time. Regardless, that is not the reason I trained you nor the reason I continue to care so deeply about you and your wellbeing.”

“You—” Anakin shuts his mouth.

“Yes?”

“I’m surprised,” Anakin admits. “You’re a Jedi Master and a member of the High Council. I just thought that if anybody had mastered the Code and the idea of non-attachment, it would be you.”

“Attachment? Love does not equal attachment, Anakin. If that were true, I’d imagine hardly anyone in the Galaxy could call themselves a true Jedi Master.”

“What? But then why are you and the Council always lecturing me about love?” Anakin demands.

“Because,” Obi-Wan sighs, “as I was trying to explain at the beginning of this particular conversation, you just do not know how to let go. Attachment is merely love taken to its extreme—when we are so deeply consumed by our feelings that we are unwilling or unable to let the ones we love go.”

“What’s wrong with that? The only reason I’m ever able to pull off some of my crazy plans is because I just refuse to sit back and let people die the way everyone else does.”

“And that is a strength,” Obi-Wan says, gently. “But our greatest strengths are all too often our greatest weaknesses as well. You often struggle to find the line between love and selfishness—and it is selfishness, Anakin, to hold on to the ones we love at the expense of all else.”

“So, you’re saying if it was me or the Galaxy, you’d just…give up and let me die? Because you’re not attached, like me,” Anakin says, bitterly. “Because it’s for the greater good.”

Obi-Wan pauses and raises a hand to stroke his beard.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. Anakin frowns, taken aback by Obi-Wan’s uncertainty. His old master gives an infinitely sad smile. “I’d like to think I would—I know I would struggle, greatly, but I hope that if the time ever comes, I would. I know you often view it as giving up—but there comes a point when we have done all that we are reasonably capable of and yet we still fail. And at that point, we must be willing to accept the inevitable or risk transforming ourselves and our love into something ugly. I know you would hate me if I sacrificed, say, Padmé’s or Ahsoka’s lives to save yours. That’s ultimately what non-attachment is about, you must understand. Recognizing that there are some lines in the sand that should not be crossed, even for the ones we love, and even if that means letting them go.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do—for you or Padmé or Ahsoka,” Anakin declares—not so much a boast as a statement of fact.

“Yes, I know,” Obi-Wan says, though he sounds not the least bit happy about it. “Which is why I would like you to meditate on that thought today—I’d like to work through it over and over again, truly examining it from every angle. What past incidents are driving you? How does it affect your present? And how may it play out in the future?”

“That…sounds like a lot.”

“It may take more than one meditation session,” Obi-Wan admits. “It may take many years, to be perfectly frank. But I think it is important for you to understand something that is so fundamental to your person, that drives so many of your actions, both good and bad.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I’ll…try,” Anakin finally offers, reluctantly, when it becomes clear how important this is to Obi-Wan. It’s not that he doesn’t want to truly learn how to control his temper and the Dark Side’s hold over him, that he has no faith in Obi-Wan’s guidance, it’s just…he doesn’t see how this is supposed to help. If anything, his attachments are what have kept him so anchored in the Light. Obi-Wan’s eyes light up with mischief as he opens his mouth. Anakin groans in realization. “Don’t you kriffing dare, it was just a slip of the tongue—”

“There is no try, my young Padawan, only do or do not,” Obi-Wan intones in mock solemnity. Anakin can’t help it; he huffs out a laugh. “Come, I think that is quite enough for our first session. Let us slowly lower our shields and return to normal. We have plenty yet to discuss with Rex and Cody.”

And with that, the conversation is over.

***

As usual, Padmé is late.

It’s not that Anakin doesn’t love every part of his wife, he does, it’s just…

“We were supposed to depart twenty minutes ago,” Cody huffs disapprovingly. “The Sullustian delegation may wonder where we are.”

Anakin sighs.

“She said she’s coming,” he repeats, for the tenth time.

“Couldn’t you—”

“If you’re about to suggest that I com her again and try to hurry her along—a) that’s not going to work and b) I don’t exactly fancy getting my head ripped off, thanks.”

Rex and Cody continue pacing back and forth across the command tent, each boot smartly, firmly placed to avoid twisting their ankles in the uneven ground.

“The Naboo have the art of being fashionably late down to a science,” Obi-Wan observes, in amusement. He’s a lot calmer than the two clones, probably because he’s worked with Padmé before and is well aware of her tendency to arrive twenty-five minutes late to everything. She can be punctual when she wants to be, of course, but most of the time, she just doesn’t want to—using her late arrival to command attention and subtly reassert her dominance over other diplomats. Why she does it when it’s just Anakin and they’re at home, Force knows, but having seen the way other Senators and diplomats play right into her hands, he does actually get why she does it in situations like this.

Finally, he and Obi-Wan straighten slightly as they pick up the patter of two sets of feet—one with a slightly longer stride, the other short and furiously energetic.

“At any rate, they’re almost here,” Anakin says. Rex shoots him a looks.

“I don’t hear—ugh, that will never stop being creepy.”

There’s movement at the front of the command tent and then Padmé pokes her head in, very carefully using her hands to keep the flap closed so that all they can see is her neck and head, floating about midway up. She glances around, then ducks back out, murmuring a quick ““They’re ready, Luke!”

With everyone’s eyes firmly fixed on the tent’s entrance, Padmé sweeps forward, revealing a beautifully understated black and Nubian maroon tunic paired with sensible, knee-high boots. It’s a lot more sensible than Anakin would have expected, given the degree of Padmé’s lateness and the anticipation burbling just below the surface of her eyes.

She pauses, glancing behind her as Artoo and Threepio bustle in closely and shuffle off to the side. Artoo gives an excited little wobble back and forth and Padmé nods regally to Threepio.

At this signal, the protocol drop flips the tent flap open and reveals Luke, backlit by the fading sunlight and standing, hands on his hips and chin raised imperiously. He marches into the tent, ensconced a very different ensemble than the one he had been wearing earlier in the morning. Dark, finely tailored fabric is draped around his body, and held together by a nice, thick leather belt. But most eye-catching of all is the short, synth-silk cape covering one shoulder, edged in delicate velvet and beading. He pauses in the middle of the tent and does a little twirl, cape swishing all around him. He looks over excitedly to Padmé.

“How was that?” he asks.

“Perfect!” she beams, clasping her hands together and Artoo whistles his agreement. Obi-Wan glances over to her, eyes wide. She continues, in a slightly more subdued, explanatory tone of voice. “We had Threepio make some last-minute nips and tucks on some extra little page boy outfits from the back of my closet. Doesn’t he look darling?”

“I picked it out myself,” Luke emphasizes, jutting his chin out proudly. Padmé smooths a fond hand over his hair.

“That he did—he’s got such a lovely eye. And I was a little doubtful about the cape, but I have to admit, it was exactly the right touch.”

“Capes are for drama,” Luke announces very seriously. Rex and Cody muffle suspicious sounding coughs in their forearms, but Anakin is not nearly as circumspect, letting out a big guffaw. 

“That they are, Luke, that they are,” he agrees, still chortling.

“Fulcrum taught me how to swish,” he explains, turning again to give his cape a little fluttering flick. “She’s better at it then me, but I’ve been practicing so I can impress her next time we meet.”

“I’m sure you’ll blow her away,” Padmé agrees, cheeks round and pink with her exuberance. Anakin comes to stand next to her, reaching out a hand to squeeze hers as Obi-Wan steps forward and gestures Luke closer. As the boy approaches, he adjusts the stiff collar of his son’s outfit and brushes away an imaginary piece of lint.

“You look quite handsome, Luke,” he says quietly. Suddenly, he smiles a thin but genuine thing. “And you’re right about the capes, you know. Anakin and I do love a good cape moment ourselves. I’m so…happy to see you carrying on this tradition.”

Luke eyes go wide.

“You’re happy?” he repeats, almost in wonder and Anakin can feel his heart breaking—he remembers what it was like being a young Padawan, the heavy cloak of grief that bowed his new Master’s shoulders and wondering if he would ever see him smile, truly smile again. He’s done a good job, he thinks, over the years, of lifting some of that grief from Obi-Wan’s shoulders, but with his death in Luke’s universe, that whole weight must have crashing down upon him, twice as heavy.

“Yes, young one, very happy,” Obi-Wan repeats. “Now can you give another swish, so Anakin and I can give you some constructive criticism? We were so shocked that I don’t think we had the time to truly take it all in.”

Luke beams and happily complies, Rex, Padmé, and Anakin clapping and cheering in support as Obi-Wan offers some gentle pointers and Cody subtly takes some holos with his helmet cam.

“Come on,” Luke finally says, once he is fully finished preening. His voice is only a little whiny. “I want to go back to the ruins!”

“Bossy, much?” Anakin snorts. Rex laughs and bumps Anakin’s shoulder, looking pointedly at Obi-Wan.

“Wonder who he got that from?”

“Stop insulting my General or I’ll tell Wolffe it was you who repainted his armor,” Cody replies calmly.

Rex pales.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Now, now boys,” Obi-Wan says, “settle down and focus. It’s time to unravel a millennia old mystery and figure out how we’re going to get Luke back to the future.”

Luke jumps and pumps his fist as he leads the way out of the tent.

“Yipee!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back from the dead! hope the fluff and healing made up for it!! 
> 
> only one thing unites all members of the #disasterlineage and that's good looks and dramatic cloak drops. fight me.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, your kudos and comments really brighten my day!


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